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Copyright i948 by Qotham Book "Mart, Inc. 

The letters in this volume are pubHshed with the kind 
permission of The Viking Press, holders of publication 
rights in all letters of D. H. Lawrence. 




This book contains the letters D. H. Lawrence wrote to Ber- 
trand Russell during the First World War, and Lawrence's 
comments on the manuscript outline of a lecture-series Russell 
had prepared. 

This correspondence is not a miscellany: it dramatically tells 
a story that has a beginning, a middle, and an end. For fullest 
understanding of this material I have provided background in- 
formation, I hope not excessively, in the Introduction. Further 
explanations, for those interested in such matters, are supplied 
in Appendix B, which gives the reasons for the order in which 
the letters are arranged and for the conjectural dating of those 
Lawrence left undated. 

I hope that others who read these letters— and they are emi- 
nently re-readable— will find them as rewarding as I have found 
them. I also hope that their publication will help toward the long 
overdue revival of interest in Lawrence. Readers do not have 
to agree with Lawrence's ideas to find him one of the richest, 



most exalting reading experiences in the modern world— it is 
difficult to believe that so many people who like literature have 
been depriving themselves of Lawrence's poems and novels. 

Meanwhile, here is another contribution to Lawrence litera- 
ture, one of the last important collections of Lawrenciana. This 
book is the idea of Miss Frances Stelofif of the Gotham Book 
Mart, who owns these letters. I am grateful to her for assigning 
me this pleasantest of editorial tasks. She and I are in turn grate- 
ful to Mrs. Frieda Lawrence and to Mr. Bertrand Russell for 
making publication of these letters possible. And my wife 
Beatrice Reynolds Moore deserves my special thanks for her 
encouragement and practical assistance. 

Harry T. Moore 
Bab son Institute 
Wellesley ytills, Mass. 



Introduction 1 

D. H. Lawrence's Letters to Bertrand Russell 27 
Appendix A. Lawrence's Corrections on Russell's 

Manuscript 75 

Appendix B. A Note on the Chronology of the Letters 97 


A page from Letter Number 1 1 facing page 53 

A page from Russell's Manuscript showing 

Lawrence's corrections 88 





The antagonistic friendship of D. H. Lawrence and Ber- 
trand Russell endured for a little more than a year. 

Not long after they met in 191 5, the two men planned to give 
a series of lectures together in London. Both Lawrence and 
Russell were opposed to war and were distressed by the one then 
going on in Europe. But instead of establishing a common front, 
they became involved in a little war of their own. Its story is 
told in these twenty- three letters from Lawrence to Russell. 

They contain some of Lawrence's most intense utterances, 
for during that period (early 1915 to early 1916) he was going 
through a tormenting spiritual crisis. 

It was not only the war that agitated him: 1915 was the 
year in which the most important book he had yet written was 
suppressed because a magistrate decreed that this novel was in- 
decent. For several years after the trouble over 7he Rainbow, 
Lawrence found it almost impossible to earn money by writing, 
and he had no other income. Later in the war he was to become 



SO poor that he could not afford to buy fuel for his cottage— he 
had to burn chips he picked up after trees had been cut down for 
use in the war industries. Another cause of wretchedness at 
the time was the hatred that he felt was being directed against 
him by the authorities and by people in general because his wife 
was German. 

Most of Lawrence's closest friends during those troubled 
years were aristocrats. With the exception of John Middleton 
Murry and Katherine Mansfield, young writers who had not 
yet come so far as he had along the road to recognition, Law- 
rence's chief correspondents and associates during the period 
were Lady Ottoline Morrell and Lady Cynthia Asquith. Law- 
rence had a faculty similar to that of his German contemporary, 
Rilke, for arousing sympathy in high-bom women. Lawrence's 
wife, geh. Frieda von Richthofen, was a baroness. 

Like Lawrence's influential women friends Lady Ottoline and 
Lady Cynthia, Bertrand Russell belonged to one of the great 
families of England, yet Lawrence, the coal miner's son, had 
achieved enough to make him feel entitled to regard Russell and 
himself as fellow-workers in the vineyard. The egalitarian who 
had written Sons and Lovers and a number of highly praised 
poems and stories felt he could assume with Russell the you- 
and-I-are-intellectuals-together attitude. 

Not that Lawrence in his proudest moments could have seri- 
ously compared his own accomplishments up to that time with 
those of Russell. A few years before, Russell had collaborated 



with Alfred North Whitehead on Vrincipia Mathematica, rec- 
ognized from the first as one of the masterpieces in its field. 
Russell had written other important books, and his position on 
the faculty at Cambridge University no doubt impressed Law- 
rence, who had not yet developed his contempt for professors 
and erudition. In his youth Lawrence had been an excellent 
student, had earned a high-school scholarship, and had one year 
stood first in all England and Wales in the Uncertified Teachers' 
Examination. His own record as a schoolmaster was a good one : 
this man who was to become one of the age's most ferocious 
enemies of science had been a successful teacher of science. 

Lawrence had given up teaching in 1912 because of poor 
health. From then on he made his living only by writing, though 
from time to time he accepted donations from friends. Letter 
Number 22 of the present volume, which asks Russell to re- 
member him in his will, provides an example of the outrageous 
coyness with which Lawrence could occasionally ask for money. 

At the time of the first letters to Russell, who had been intro- 
duced to the Lawrences by Lady Ottoline, the Lawrences were 
living in a cottage at Greatham, in Sussex. They had been stay- 
ing in Bucks, where during an illness Lawrence had grown the 
red beard he wore the rest of his life; it gave him the look of a 
prophet and it later symbolized his 'isolate manhood.' 

Lawrence wrote to a friend in Nottingham about the new 
home in Sussex : 
It is the Meynell's place. You know Alice Meynell, Catholic poetess, 




rescuer of Francis Thompson. The father took a big old farm house at 
Greatham, then proceeded to give each of his children a cottage. Now 
Viola lends us hers.* 

The first letter of the present series (and a highly important 
letter for the understanding of Lawrence) is dated '12 Feb. 

><^ 191 5' and is addressed to 'Dear Mr. Russell.' Lawrence's salu- 
tations in this correspondence tell an interesting part of the story. 
They go from this Dear Mr. Russell to Dear Bertrand Russell 
and Dear Russell, then, after a break, to a heartier Dear Bertie, 
and at last to the formal extreme of My Dear Russell. Lawrence, 
despite all his cheekiness, always felt smirched by the coal-grit 
of the Nottingham mines, and even in his freest moments with 
Russell he could not quite shake off the coUier's-boy-before-the- 
son-of-the-manor-house attitude. 

At the beginning of the friendship Lawrence told Lady Otto- 
line Morrel (apparently in early March, 1915), 'Bertrand Rus- 
sell wrote me. I feel a quickening of love for him.' Huxley on 
page 235 of his edition places this letter, datelined only 'Mon- 
day,' after May 31, which is wrong by nearly three months. 
^Lawrence in the text of the letter mentions the visit he will make 

)(' I to Cambridge at the end of that week; it appears that he made 
only one visit there, during the first weekend of March of 1 91 5. 
Appendix B of the present volume, where reasons are given for 
the affixing of dates to various letters on the basis of internal 

* 7be Letters of D. "H. Lawrence, edited by Aldous Huxley (New York : The Viking 
Press, 1932), p. 219. Hereafter this collection will be itemized as Huxley. 



evidence, discusses Lawrence's disillusionment with Cambridge, 
which_comes out in Letter Number 5 of the Russell correspond- 
ence. Lawrence also speaks slightingly of Cambridge several 
times in letters in the Huxley volume (pages 238 and 390). 
And Frieda Lawrence, in her memoir of her husband, states that 
'he had expected much' of his Cambridge visit, but that when 
he returned he said: 'Wdl^injlie evening they drank port and 
they walked up and down the room and talked about the Balkan 
situation and things like that, and they know nothing about it.' * 

Russell returned Lawrence's visit toward the end of June. 
Lawrence's letter to Lady Ottoline on page 242 of the Huxley 
edition, dated only 'Sunday,' tells her that Russell is at Grea- 
tham. Since the weekend of June 19 is mentioned twice in the 
Lawrence-Russell correspondence in the present volume, the 
letter in Huxley may safely be dated Sunday, June 20, 1915 
Lawrence complains to Lady Ottoline that Russell, 'apart from 
philosophical mathematics,' tends to be limited by the immedi- 
ate and the temporal and does not enter into the knowledge of 
the Absolute. Lawrence, however, believes that he is giving 
Russell a sense of eternity. He tells Lady Ottoline of their plan 
for the London lectures; Russell will speak on ethics, Lawrence 
on immortality, and they will establish a kind of religious soci- 
ety, centered in the knowledge of God. This will lead to 'action.' 

Lawrence wants Lady Ottoline to be president of the society, 

♦Frieda Lawrence, '7<Jot J, But 7he Wind . . .' (Santa Fe: The Rydal Press, 1934), 
p. 100. 



and he wants also to draw in Gilbert Cannan (who was in a 
few years to be certified as insane), Gordon Campbell (after- 
ward Lord Glenavy), and the 'Murrys' (Murry and Katherine 
Mansfield, later to be married). Lawrence suggests meetings at 
Garsington, Lady Ottoline's estate in Oxfordshire, which is 
'like that Boccaccio place where they told all the Decamerone/ 

Apparently that weekend of June 19-20 was the time when 
the Lawrence-Russell lecture series was first thought of. It now 
seems strange that these two men, so antipodal in temperament, 
decided to give joint lectures. At the time they had a feeling of 
fellowship, however : it has already been mentioned that both 
of them were opposed to war, and that both had been shaken up 
by the coming of the First World War. Russell wrote in 1927: 

I had watched with growing anxiety the policies of all the European 
great powers in the years before 1914, and was quite unable to accept 
the superficial melodramatic explanations of the catastrophe which 
were promulgated by the belligerent governments. . . . Civilization, 
which I had thought secure, showed itself capable of generating destruc- 
tive forces which threatened a disaster comparable to the fall of Rome.* 

And in 1930 he stated: 

I have never been so whole-hearted or so little troubled with hesita- 
tion in any work as in the pacifist work that I did during the war. For 
the first time I found something to do which involved my whole nature. 
My previous abstract work had left my human interests unsatisfied, 
and I had allowed them an occasional outlet by political speaking and 

*Sekcted Papers of Bertrand Russell (New York: The Modern Library, 1927), 
pp. xi-xii. 


writing, more particularly on free trade and votes for women. The aris- 
tocratic political tradition of the eighteenth and early nineteenth cen- 
turies, which I had imbibed in childhood, had made me feel an instinc- 
tive responsibility in regard to public affairs. And a strong parental 
instinct, at that time not satisfied in a personal way, caused me to feel 
a great indignation at the spectacle of the young men of Europe being 
deceived and butchered in order to gratify the evil passions of their 

Lawrence had been walking in Westmorland, 'rather happy, 
with water-lilies twisted round [his] hat,' when he received news 
of the outbreak of war. He described what he had felt at that 
time, in a letter to Lady Cynthia Asquith the following January 
30; he told her that the war 'was a spear through the side of all 
sorrows and hopes/ Things had ceased to exist for him; he felt 
that his soul was in the tomb, with a stone over it, and that neither 
he nor anyone else existed. But he knew he would rise again. 

This description of his spiritual death is of course partly 
hyperbole, though other letters preceding this one, and the testi- 
mony of Lawrence's friends, bear out that he was miserable at 
the time. The letter to Lady Cynthia was written shortly after 
the Lawrences arrived at Greatham; the coming resurrection he 
speaks of had its first stirrings as he walked on the Sussex downs. 
By the 1 st of February he was writing to Lady Ottoline in a vein 
prophetic of the one he was to write her in (as we have already 
seen) six months later; he tells her in this February 1 letter that 

*Bertrand Russell and others, What 3 Believe (New York: Simon and Schuster, 
1931), pp. 12-13. 



she must be the center of a new community which will inspire a 
new kind of life 'in which the only riches is integrity of charac- 
ter/ This leads directly to the Russell correspondence, which 
begins later that month : and, as we have seen, the men are by 
June planning the lecture series. 

By July 9, Lawrence is telling Lady Ottoline that Russell, 
who has mailed him the synopsis of his lectures on Political 
Ideals, still needs to break away from the shore of 'this existing 
world' in a boat 'and preach from out the waters of eternity/ 
He hopes that Russell is not angry with him. And although he 
has stopped writing his own philosophy until he is 'freer,' he feels 
hopeful for 7he Rainbow as he corrects proof on it. He con- 
tinues the seafaring metaphor : this novel 'is the voyage of dis- 
covery towards the real and eternal and unknown land.' 

And he spoke truly there: yhe Rainbow was a new beginning 
for him. After Sons and Covers the way was open for Lawrence 
to become one of the most popular of English novelists, perhaps 
a successor to Meredith with the wide public that likes well- 
written novels which are not too disturbing. Lawrence had a 
supreme gift for evoking his native landscape, and he had a Dick- 
ens-like talent for bringing a character to life with a few deft 
strokes: if he merely exploited his skill along these lines, he 
would have fame, comfort, and wealth. 

But this was not Lawrence's way: he felt the challenge to go 
in another direction, to explore the phases of human conscious- 
ness that previous novels had not explored. All this was in the| 



Zeitgeist, for it was only a few years since Freud had pried open 
the Pandora's box of the Unconscious. Other novelists had been 
working in consciousness-experiment techniques, those writers 
who were Henry James's spiritual descendants— Joyce, Proust, 
and Dorothy Richardson. But Lawrence's experiments were of 
a different kind, since these authors were for the most part 
investigating the mental aspects of consciousness. Lawrence was 
exploring almost entirely its emotional properties. And the lyr- 
icism which had from the first characterized his work was now 
becoming infused with mysticism. 

Russell was three years later to publish his attack on mysti- 
cism, the book called Mysticism and Logic. Once when a young 
writer (William Gerhardi) asked Russell if he ever resorted to 
mysticism, Russell replied 'Yes, when I am humiliated.' 

He and Lawrence differed on so many points that it would be 
interesting to have a record of their conversations, at Garsing- 
ton, London, Cambridge, and Greatham— what they said in the 
give-and-take element of talk must have been quite as interesting 
as what they wrote in letters. It is regrettable that Russell's let- 
ters were not preserved, but his responses can be conjectured, 
partly from Lawrence's own letters and partly from Russell's 
known philosophic stand. Appendix A shows how completely 
the two men agreed or dissented on various important issues. 

Their main quarrel can be most simply described as one 
between emotion and mind— or, in somewhat more philosophic 
nomenclature, it can be called a quarrel between instinct (or 




intuition) and reason (or intellect). Lawrence in 1913, not long 
after completing Sons and Lovers, stated in a letter what was 
essentially to be his philosophy for the rest of his life: 'My great 
religion is a belief in the blood, the flesh, as being wiser than the 
intellect. We can go wrong in our minds. But what our blood 
feels and believes and says, is always true.' (Huxley, p. 96.) 
/ In 1914 Russell had written, in Our Xnowledge of the Ex- 
ternal World (delivered as lectures at American universities) : 

The theoretical understanding of the world, which is the aim of 
philosophy, is not a matter of great practical importance to animals, or 
to savages, or even to most civilized men. It is hardly to be supposed, 
therefore, that the rapid, rough and ready methods of instinct or intui- 
tion will find in this field a favorable ground for their application. It is 
the older kinds of activity, which bring out our kinship with remote 
generations of animal and semi-human ancestors, that show intuition 
at its best. In such matters as self-preservation and love, intuition will 
act sometimes (though not always) with a swiftness and precision which 
are astonishing to the critical intellect. But philosophy is not one of the 
pursuits which illustrate our affinity with the past : it is a highly refined, 
highly civilized pursuit, demanding, for its success, a certain liberation 
from the life of instinct, and even, at times, a certain aloofness from all 
mundane hopes and fears. It is not in philosophy, therefore, that we can 
hope to see intuition at its best. On the contrary, since the true objects 
of philosophy, and the habits of thought demanded for their apprehen- 
sion, are strange, unusual, and remote, it is here, more almost than any- 
where else, that intellect proves superior to intuition, and that quick 
unanalyzed convictions are least deserving of uncritical acceptance.' 

* Selected Papers of Bertrand Hussell, pp. 340-341. 



The recurrence of such passages in Russell's writing shows 
how far removed he was from Lawrence's 'blood-consciousness' 
philosophy. Perhaps it was that parental instinct which Russell 
ascribes to himself which made him remain friendly to Lawrence 
for as long as he did, and certainly Lawrence felt a tenderness 
for Russell, as the quotations from Lawrence's letters in the 
foregoing have shown. 

Along with that tenderness, Lawrence also felt exasperation 
at times. In another letter to Lady Ottoline Morrell (Huxley 
places this before June 1 but, as I show in Appendix B of the 
present volume, we now have evidence that it should be given a 
July date), Lawrence says that Russell is really too callow, that 
he writes 'lachrymose letters' full of a disillusionment that seems 
juvenile, and that he should 'clench his fist in the face of the 

Lawrence was at this time twenty-nine years old; Russell was 

At the beginning of August 1915 the Lawrences left Grea- 
tham and took a flat in the Hampstead section of London. Ear- 
lier in the month they went up to the city to look for furniture. 
Lawrence talked with Russell and wrote Lady Ottoline a letter 
headed 'Monday,' probably July 12, which tells of his disagree- 
ment with Russell about 'the Infinite, the Absolute,' which Law- 
rence felt to be the 'starting point ... on the journey toward 
Truth.' But, Lawrence reports, the two of them 'have almost 
sworn Bluthruderschaft.' 



On the 26th of July— Letter Number 12 of the present set- 
Lawrence is scolding Russell. Ten days later he sends a short, 
friendlier note (Number 13), though he is 'dislocated and un- 
happy' after the move. On August 16, Lawrence tells Lady 
Cynthia Asquith that he does not know whether the lectures 
will ever begin : 'I don't see how I am to start. Russell and I were 
to do something together. He was to give a real course on polit- 
ical reconstruction ideas. But it is no good. He sent me a synopsis 
of the lectures, and I can only think them pernicious. And now 
his vanity is piqued, because I said they must be different. . . . 
What does Russell really want? He wants to keep his own estab- 
lished ego, his finite and ready-defined self intact, free from 
contact and connection. He wants to be ultimately a free agent. : 
That is what they all want ultimately— that is what is at the back 
of all peace-for-ever and democratic control talk . . .' (Huxley, 
pp. 250-251)— and he rails on for several more pages. Once he 
says he feels like 'running off to some unformed South American 
place'— one of the first stirrings, perhaps, of the idea he was to 
develop later that year, of establishing an 'ideal' colony in the 
Western Hemisphere. In complaining to Lady Cynthia that Rus- 
sell's vanity was piqued because Lawrence said the lectures must 
be different, Lawrence failed to mention that when he had used 
that imperative (in the third paragraph of Letter Number 1 1 , 
'You must work out the idea of a new state ...'), he had under- 
lined the brusque little word fifteen times. 

Then, on the same day that he writes Letter Number 1 4 to 



Russell— September 5— Lawrence tells Lady Cynthia that he 
has quarreled deeply with Russell and that there will probably 
be no lectures. Russell finally gave his own series. 

Lawrence is now starting the magazine ITbe Signature, in 
association with Murry and Katherine Mansfield, as he tells 
both Russell and Lady Cynthia on that day (September 5), 
inviting Russell to be a contributor. 

Four days later Lawrence informs Lady Ottoline that he and 
Russell have parted; it is 'for a little while/ and 'only in the natu- 
ral course. The real development continues even in its negation, 
under the winter.' But on the 14th of September he writes 
Russell a blistering, accusatory letter, Number 1 5 in the present 
volume, telling Lady Ottoline about it on the same day (p. 258 
in Huxley's collection). It has made Lawrence both glad and 
sorry, he informs her, to have written this letter, but it also has 
made him want to find a corner to cry in, as when he was a child. 
But by the 20th of September, when he tells Lady Cynthia about 
it, he is feeling better, and the air is clearer, as after a thunder- 
storm. Lawrence wrote across Russell's synopsis of the lectures 
his own disagreement with Russell's ideas; Russell's synopsis of 
his own set of lectures and Lawrence's comments are printed in 
Appendix A of the present volume. 

Lawrence's 'little paper,' 7he Signature, was part of his rela- 
tionship with Murry, which was a counterpoise to his relation- 
ship with Russell. 



Ten years afterward, Lawrence spoke somewhat jeeringly of 
yhe Signature, which he credits Murry with suggesting: 

To me the venture meant nothing real : a little escapade. I don't be- 
lieve in 'doing things' like that. In a great issue like the war, there was 
nothing to be 'done,' in Murry's sense. There is still nothing to be 
'done.' Probably not for many, many years will men start to 'do' some- 
thing. And even then, only after they have changed gradually, and 

Murry complained, in a book written after Lawrence's death, 
that this statement was unfair. But Lawrence's correspondence 
at the time does not indicate that he felt very much enthusiasm 
for the project; it is true that he tried to induce friends to find 
subscribers among 'those who cared' for 'the living truth,' and 
once he expressed the hope that J^he Signature would be the 
seed of a great new life, but in the main there is little earnestness 
in his appeals— he seems less worked up about the magazine than 
he had been about the lectures. 

Yet Lawrence's essay which appeared in 7be Signature's three 
numbers— The Crown'— represented his serious thinking at the 
time; and ten years later he still cleaved to it essentially. But he ] 
also stated that it was 'ridiculous' to offer this essay 'in a little 
sixpenny pamphlet. I always felt ashamed, at the thought of the 
few who sent their half-crowns. Happily they were few, and ; 
they could read Murry. 't 

*D. H. Lawrence, Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays 
(Philadelphia: The Centaur Press, 1925). Pages in the introductory 'Note' are 

flbid., 'Note/ 




Lawrence said that The Crown' is 'no use for a five minutes' 
lunch'— and the present Introduction is in any event not the 
appropriate place for a precis of that essay or a discussion of its 
somewhat Manichean symbolism. The reader who studies it in 
the Porcupine volume will find a relationship between it and the 
Russell letters, though Lawrence revised the essay before it 
appeared in that book so long afterward. 

Murry's contribution to the three issues of ^The Signature was 
an essay called There Was a Little Man.' In it he expressed his 
attitude to the war : 'Passionately and from the depths of my 
heart I say 'This monstrous thing does not exist"; there is no 
real relation between it and me.' 

It is interesting to consider the attitude to war that was held 
over the years by these three men, Lawrence, Murry, and 

Lawrence, in the chapter of %angaroo called The Night- 
mare,' has told of his experiences on the occasions when he was 
called up to be examined for military service. This is one of the 
most vital descriptions of the backstage side of modern warfare 
that has yet been written : Lawrence was known to be an objector 
to war, and he was married to a German. A thin little man when 
he took off his clothes and stood among the healthier specimens, 
he felt that the doctors were trying to 'do him down'— and pos- 
sibly they were. In JCangaroo, Lawrence's autobiographical 
character Somers goes up to his native Midlands for one of his 
examinations : 



He wondered what instructions they had had about him. Oh, foul dogs. 

But they were very close on him now, very close. They were grinning 
very close behind him, like hyaenas just going to bite. Yes, they were 
running him to earth. They had exposed all his nakedness to jibes. And 
they were pining, almost whimpering to give the last grab at him, and 
haul him to earth, a victim. Finished ! 

But not yet! Oh, no, not yet. Not yet, not now, nor ever. Not while 
life was life, should they lay hold of him. Never again. Never would he 
be touched again. And because they had handled his private parts, and 
looked into them, their eyes should burst and their hands should wither 
and their hearts should rot. So he cursed them in his blood, with an 
unremitting curse. ... He would obey no more, not one more stride. If 
they summoned him he would disappear: or find some means of fighting 
them. But no more obedience : no more presenting himself when called 
up. By God, no ! Never while he lived again, would he be at the dis- 
posal of society.* 

This emotion recollected in untranquility was recorded some 
years later at the remove of Australia: %angaroo, one of Law- 
rence's least known and most profound novels, is a forcible 
statement of individualism— and it is a book which indicates that, 
although some parts of his doctrine a\ times apparently resem- 
bled some parts of the Nazi doctrine, Lawrence would have 
never advocated the realization of Nazism. In a police state 
Lawrence would have hated the brutality more than most people 
do, and he would have hated the muzzling more than anyone. 

*D. H. Lawrence, Xangaroo (New York: Thomas Selzer, 1923), pp. 300-301. 



Whether Lawrence would have supported the Allied cause 
in the Second World War is a matter inviting conjecture. He 
was certainly no more deeply pacifist than Russell, who did 
support that cause. But it is debatable whether Lawrence would 
have favored the large-scale bombing of cities or the use of the 
atom bomb : we must remember how his spokesman-character in 
Aaron's Rod, Rawdon Lilly, puts Aaron out of his flat because 
Aaron has defended the use of poison gas. 

Yet these speculations as to what Lawrence's attitude might 
be today are speculations in a void. It must be remembered that 
from the time of Lawrence's death to the moment when Eng- 
land and Germany were at war again, Europe passed through a 
tormented decade. 

It was a decade that changed many men besides Russell, 
whose 1916 collection of esssays, Justice in War Jime, chal- 
lenged the British war aims and criticized the nation's foreign 
policy. Russell was dismissed from his post at Trinity College, 
Cambridge, his library was seized, and he was denied a passport 
to America. He was imprisoned for four and a half months in 
1918 (and while serving his sentence wrote Introduction to 
Mathematical Philosophy], for condemning the use of Ameri- 
can troops to quell labor disputes— under the Defense of the 
Realm act, the article he published on the subject was considered 
endangering to Anglo-American unity, although the material 
that the article was based on came from an official publication 
of the United States Government. 



Russell's attitude toward the Allied aims in the Second World 
War was, as I have already mentioned, quite different: he sup- 
ported the opponents of Nazism. And he became once again a 
member of the faculty at Cambridge. He had inherited his earl- 
dom, though he does not himself use the title. His recent beliefs 
about war and the future of mankind have been partly expressed 
in an article in a British magazine; in this he has stated his belief 
in the possibility that humanity, although on the edge of self- 
destruction, can yet be persuaded to take measures for survival. 
In Russell's allowance, these measures will have to be militant : 

It is entirely clear that there is only one way in which great wars can 
be permanently prevented, and that is the establishment of an inter- 
national government with a monopoly of serious armed force. When I 
speak of an international government, I mean one that really governs, 
not an amiable fa(;;ade like the League of Nations, or a pretentious sham 
like the United Nations under its present constitution. An international 
government, if it is to be able to preserve peace, must have the only 
atomic bombs, the only plant for producing them, the only air force, the 
only battleships, and, generally, whatever is necessary to make it irre- 
sistible. Its atomic staff, its air squadrons, the crews of its battleships, 
and its infantry regiments must each severally be composed of men of 
many different nations; there must be no possibility of a development 
of national feeling in any unit larger than a company. Every member of 
the international armed force should be carefully trained in loyalty to 
the international government.* 

Now, to complete the picture, what of Lawrence's other close 

*'The Atomic Bomb and the Prevention of War/ Polemic, No. 4 (July- August 
1946), pp. 16-17. 




friend of the 1915-16 period, Murry? His mutations are hard 
to follow because on every question he has changed so often, and 
in so many different directions. His intellectual chameleonism 
has kept him from centralizing his talents on the activity for 
which he is best fitted— literary criticism. His temperament has 
led him down by-paths of nebulous theology and anagogic 
socialism. In spite of this he has accomplished much; his studies 
of Keats and his yhe Problem of Style should assure him of a 
place among the better English critics of this half-century— these 
books will certainly outlive his reputation for confused evan- 

Nothing so decisively indicates Murry's continual switching 
about as his attitudes to war. For, after taking a stand with 
Lawrence against the continuance of the First World War (This 
monstrous thing does not exist'), he went into the Admiralty on 
a kind of public-relations assignment and emerged with an Order 
of Merit. But in the Second World War, Murry was a Dick 
Sheppard pacifist. 

Lawrence seems from the first to have had an inkling of 
Murry 's tendency to be anfractuous; partly, his affection for 
Murry kept him from realizing the worst possibilities of the 
tendency. Lawrence's assurance to Lady Ottoline in the sum- 
mer of 1915 does not quite have the ring of a firm assurance: 
'Murry has a genuine side to his nature: so has Mrs. Murry. 
Don't mistrust them. They are valuable, I know.' (Huxley, 
p. 243.) 



The crisis of antagonism between Lawrence and Murry was 
not to be reached until the following spring, in Cornwall. But 
during the previous summer and autumn, Lawrence seemed 
gradually to lose interest in the magazine venture with Murry, 
as his correspondence at the time shows. 

Lawrence had other matters to fill his mind. One was the 
publication of Hhe Rainbow and its suppression; the other was 
the scheme for going to America. 

yhe Rainbow came out at the end of September and was 
suppressed early in November. Some of Lawrence's friends ral- 
lied to him; others disappointed him. Catherine Carswell lost her 
reviewing assignment on the Glasgow Tier aid for having praised 
the book. Philip Morrell, Lady Ottoline's husband, asked a 
question in Parliament about the suppression. Lawrence wrote 
Cynthia Asquith to inquire whether she and her husband (son 
of the Prime Minister) could help; Lawrence reproachfully in- 
formed Lady Cynthia that the book was not indecent, although 
he had heard of her commenting in shocked tones that it was 
*much worse' than the second story in Lawrence's earlier volume, 
7he Prussian Officer. And Lawrence wrote Edward Marsh on 
November 6, telling him that although he jeered at 7he Rain- 
bow, it was one of the great English novels CI tell you, who 
know'). Lawrence said he was sick, dreading another winter, and 
wanted to go to Florida. Although he owed Marsh ten pounds 
he needed more, would pay it back if he ever made any money; 



he would give Marsh, who edited the Qeorgian Verse annual, 
permanent possession of some of his future poems. 

Money troubles (Marsh generously sent twenty pounds) 
were not all that lay ahead of Lawrence: after the trip to Utopia 
was planned, he and his wife were not allowed to leave England. 
When he finally did get out, in 1 9 1 9, Lawrence never went back 
again except for brief unhappy visits. 

After a lapse of two months, the correspondence with Russell 
; resumes on November 17, 1915, with Letter Number 16, evi- 
I dently written in response to an invitation to dinner. At the end 
I of November, Lawrence and Russell are at Garsington together 
! with some other guests. In December, Lawrence writes Lady 
I Ottoline that he again has hopes for 'Bertie,' who is 'growing 
I much better' and is 'going to become young and new.' In Letter 
! 18 to Russell, December 8, Lawrence is back at his blood-con- 
sciousness philosophy again, and is giving Russell a compre- 
hensive sermon on the subject. However antagonizing this may 
have been to Russell, it is one of the great Lawrence letters, and 
an important statement of doctrine he was developing. The next 
letter, in this volume conjecturally dated December 23, invites 
Russell to join the half-dozen or so young people in the Florida 

The January 1 3 letter. Number 20, is one of the friendliest 
of all, with its 'Dear Bertie' salutation and its cordial first para- 
graph. Lawrence is now in Cornwall, a place with a stimulating 



effect upon his writing power, and he gives Russell some word- 
pictures of the landscape, its inhabitants, and its atmosphere. 
This kind of impressionism is unusual in Lawrence's letters to 
Russell, for in most of them Lawrence mutes his customary 
descriptive utterances and keeps to philosophical discussion, 
although this is often presented in the same urgent, repetitive 
rhythms as his descriptions. 

The two men mentioned in Letter 20 as being with the Law- 
rences were among the young people in the Florida venture, 
though they were soon to get out of the Lawrence camp. Philip 
Heseltine was the composer who was later to use the pseudonym 
Peter Warlock; Dikran Kouzoumdjian, already the author of 
two books written under his Armenian patrilineal name, was 
afterward to become famous as Michael Arlen. 

Lawrence writes to Russell again, a month afterward, and 
this time he tells about the book-publishing scheme, of which 
Heseltine has been the leading inciter. Then, a little later, 
Lawrence has received a communication from Russell which he 
speaks of in a February 15 letter to Lady Ottoline: Russell 
had sounded miserable, wondering why he went on living, and 
though his lectures had been financially successful, they had had 
no important influence. Only pride and obstinacy, Russell had 
told Lawrence, kept him alive. 

Lawrence a few days later (Letter 22) writes Russell slash- 
ingly, but with 'love to you.' The following month he tries again, 
in a cordial letter with a formal salutation and a friendly sugges- 



tion of another visit to the Lawrences— and Russell seems never 
to have answered. 

What is the sequel? 

It is largely the kind of small sniping that can be amusing and 
that is often interesting. 

Lawrence makes a few references to his former friend in his 
later correspondence. He speaks sneeringly to Lady Cynthia in 
December 1916 of 'that old advanced crowd— Cambridge, 
Lowes Dickenson [sic], Bertie Russell, young reformers, Social- 
ists, Fabians— they are our disease, not our hope.' (Huxley, 
p. 390.) 

The friendship with Lady Ottoline faded, too, and when 
Lawrence in bitterness wrote Women in Cove during 1916, in 
stony Cornwall, he made her a monstrous character in the story. 
(This was the final version of his old novel, The Sisters, begun 
in the Tyrol three years before/ Ihe Rainbow was also an off- 
shoot of The Sisters]. And although IV omen in Cove was com- 
pleted in the middle of the war, it was not published in England 
until 1921— and then there was consternation, when Lady Otto- 
line recognized herself as Hermione Roddice, Heseltine discov- 
ered himself as the decadent bohemian Halliday, and other 
former friends of Lawrence found themselves diligently lam- 

In the story, Hermione presides over a Midlands estate, Bred- 
alby, which is really Garsington. She is herself portrayed as one 
of the female tj^pes Lawrence abhorred most— the will-driven 



woman. In one particularly intense scene she tries to brain the 
Lawrence-man, Rupert Birkin, with a lump of lapis-lazuli, but 
he holds a volume of Thucydides before his skull and fends off 
the blow. Lawrence, in one of his 1916 letters to Lady Ottoline, 
thanks her for sending him a volume of Thucydides. 

Russell also appears to be caricatured in Women in Love, 
recognizable among the guests at Bredalby as Sir Joshua Mal- 
leson, 'a learned, dry Baronet of fifty, who was always making 
witticisms and laughing at them heartily in a harsh^jiorsejaugh. 
. . . [His] mental fibre was so tough as to be insentient.' The 
stiff-bodied 'elderly sociologist' comes in for some more jibes and 
in some of the discussions his statements are parodies of points 
in the Russell philosophy— and he is of course confuted by the 
brilliant Rupert Birkin. 

Lawrence and Lady Ottoline were reconciled in 1928, when 
he was composing £ady Chatterley's Cover in Italy. He wrote 
her the kind of letter he sometimes bestowed on people whom he 
had cruelly put into his books— people for whom he often felt a 
nostalgic affection long afterward. He assured her that she was 
a magnificent woman, an influence of great importance in many 
lives. She was generous, she stirred the imagination, and he 
wished they were all back at Garsington, starting afresh. 

In one of his subsequent letters to her there is a final mention 
of Russell: 'I was glad to hear of Bertie Russell. Perhaps he and 
his Dora will do something, after all— better than his donning 
away in Cambridge.' (Huxley, p. 792.) 



Since Lawrence's death, Russell has a few times referred to 
him in his writings/ he has sometimes attacked Lawrence philo- 
sophically. In A Tlistory of Western Philosophy (1945), Russell 
mentions Lawrence, without particularly condemning him, as 
a progeny of the romantic movement. 

One malicious echo of the Lawrence-Russell relationship 
comes at second hand (or second ear) from an anecdote. William 
Gerhardi, who had written a clever little novel called Ihe "Poly- 
glots, was introduced around British literary circles in the mid- 
dle 1920's as a bright young man, and he met both Lawrence 
and Russell. He tells in his autobiography of talking with 
Russell during a weekend at H. G. Wells's Easton Glebe: 

...Bertrand Russell, whose eyes gleamed with loving-kindness, answered 
my discreet inquiries into the realm of the Mind with the utmost willing- 
ness and lucidity. Only when I mentioned D. H. Lawrence's theories 
did the look of serenity fade in his large wise eyes, and a note of intel- 
lectual fastidiousness crept into his voice, and he said 'Lawrence has no 
mind.' He referred to the letters Lawrence wrote to him during the war, 
and how, of course, he, Bertrand Russell, was not going to be instructed 
in wisdom by D. H. Lawrence. A week later, meeting Lawrence, I told \ 
him how enchanted I had been by the lucidity, the suppleness and plia- 
bility of Bertrand Russell's mind. He sniffed. 'Have you ever seen him 
in a bathing-dress?' he asked. Toor Bertie Russell! He is all Disem- ', 
bodied Mind!'* J 

These two statements, 'Lawrence has no mind' and Toor 

* William Gerhardi, IMemoirs of a Polyglot (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1931), 
p. 234. 



Bertie Russell is all Disembodied Mind/ epitomize the differ- 
ences between the two men and provide the most effective epi- 
taph to the disenchanted relationship of the mystagogic poet 
and the mathematic logician. 



Words that Lawrence crossed out are enclosed in JPrench cjuotation 
marks » «. Bracketed dates in the letters' headings are the editor's con- 
jectures, which are explained in Appendix B. 

[LETTER 1 ] 




12 Feb 1915 
Dear Mr. Russell, 

We have had E. M. Forster here for three days. There is more 
in him than ever comes out. But he is not dead yet. I hope to see 
him pregnant with his own soul. We were on the edge of a fierce 
quarrel all the time. He went to bed muttering that he was not 
sure we— my wife & I— were n't just playing round his knees : he 
seized a candle & went to bed, neither would he say good night. 
Which I think is rather nice. He sucks his dummy— you know, 
those child's comforters— long after his age. But there is some- 
thing very real in him, if he will not cause it to die. He is much 
more than his dummy-sucking, clever little habits allow him 
to be. 

I write to say to you that we must start a solid basis of freedom 
of actual living— not only of thinking. We must provide another 
standard than the pecuniary standard, to measure all daily life 
by. We must be free of the economic question. Economic life 
must be the means to actual life. We must make it so at once. 

There must be a revolution in the state. It shall begin by the 
nationalising of all » radio « industries and means of communica- 
tion, & of the land— in one fell blow. Then a man shall have his 
wages whether he is sick or well or old— if anything prevents his 



working, he shall have his wages just the same. So we shall not 
live in fear of the wolf— no man amongst us, & no woman, shall 
have any fear of the wolf at the door, for all wolves are dead. 

Which practically solves the whole economic question for the 
present. All dispossessed owners shall receive a proportionate 
income— no capital recompense— for the space of, say fifty years. 

Something like this must be done. It is no use saying a man's 
soul should be free, if his boots hurt him so much he can't walk. 
All our ideals are cant & hypocrisy till we have burst the fetters 
of this money. Titan nailed on the rock of the modem industrial 
capitalistic system, declaring in fine language that his soul is 
free as the Oceanids that fly away on »the<< wings of aspiration, 
while the bird of carrion desire gluts at his liver, is too shameful. 
I am ashamed to write any real writing of passionate love to my 
fellow men. Only satire is decent now. The rest is a lie. Until we 
act, move, rip ourselves off the rock. So there must be an actual 
revolution, to set free our bodies. For there never was a free soul 
in a chained body. That is a lie. There might be a resigned soul. 
But a resigned soul is not a free soul. A resigned soul has yielded 
its claim on temporal living. It can only do this because the tem- 
poral living is being done for it vicariously. Therefore it is de- 
pendent on the vicar, let it say what it will. So Christ, who 
resigned his life, only resigned it because he knew the others 
would keep theirs. They would do the living, & would later adapt 
his method to their living. The freedom of the soul within the 
» chained « denied body is a sheer conceit. 



Forster is not poor, but he is bound hand & foot bodily. Why? 
Because he does not believe that any beauty or any divine utter- 
ance is any good any more. Why? Because the world is suffer- 
ing from bonds, and birds of foul desire which gnaw its liver. 
Forster knows, as every thinking man now knows, that all his 
thinking and his passion for humanity amounts to no more than 
trying to soothe with poetry a man raging with pain which can 
be cured. Cure the pain, don't give the poetry. Will all the 
poetry in the world satisfy the manhood of Forster, when Forster 
knows that his implicit manhood is to be satisfied by nothing 
but immediate physical action. He tries to dodge himself— the 
sight is pitiful. 

But why can't he act? Why can't he take a woman and fight 
clear to his own basic, primal being? Because he knows that self- 
realisation is not his ultimate desire. His ultimate desire is for 
the continued action which has been called the social passion— 
the love for humanity— the desire to work for humanity. That is 
every man's ultimate desire & need. Now you see the vicious 
I circle. Shall I go to my Prometheus and tell him beautiful tales 
of the free, whilst the vulture gnaws his liver? I am ashamed. I 
turn my face aside from my Prometheus, ashamed of my vain, 
irrelevant, impudent words. I cannot help Prometheus. And 
this knowledge rots the love of activity. 

If I cannot help Prometheus— and I am also Prometheus- 
how shall I be able to take a woman? For I go to a woman to 
know myself, and to know her. And I want to know myself, that 



I may know how to act for humanity. But if I am aware that I 
cannot act for humanity—? Then I dare not go to a woman. 

Because, if I go, I know I shall betray myself & her & every- 
thing. It will be a vicious circle. I go to her to know myself, & I 
know myself— what?— to enjoy myself. That is sensationalism— 
that I go to a woman to >>know<< feel myself only. Love is, that 
I go to a woman to know myself, & knowing myself, to go fur- 
ther, to explore in to the unknown, which is the woman, venture 
in upon the coasts of the unknown, and open my discovery to all 
humanity. But if I know that humanity is lame & cannot move, 
bound and in pain and unable to come along, my offering it dis- 
coveries is only a cynicism. Which I know & Forster knows & 
even Gilbert Cannan knows. "They can't hear you," Gilbert 
Cannan says of the public. "They turn you into a sensation.'' 
So he panders to the chained Prometheus, tickles him with near 
sensations— a beastly thing to do. He writes Young Earnest. 

If I know that humanity is chained to a rock, I cannot set set 
[sic] forth to find it new lands to enter upon. If I do pretend to 
set forth, I am a cheating, false merchant, seeking my own ends. 
And I am ashamed to be that. I will not. 

So then, how shall I come to a woman? To know myself first. 
Well and good. But knowing myself is only preparing myself. 
What for? For the adventure into the unexplored, the woman, 
the whatever-it-is I am up against.— Then the actual heart says 
"No no — I can't explore. Because an explorer is one sent forth 
from a great body of people to open out new lands for their occu- 



pation. But my people cannot even move— it is chained— para- 
lysed. I am not an explorer. I am a curious, inquisitive man with 
eyes that can only look for something to take back with him. 
And what can I take back with me? Not revelation— only 
curios— titillations. I am a curio hunter. ["] 

Again, I am ashamed. 

Well then, I am neither explorer nor curio hunter. What 
then? For what do I come to a woman? To know myself. But 
what when I know myself? What do I then embrace her for, 
hold the unknown against me for? To repeat the experience of 
self discovery. But I have discovered myself— I am not infinite. 
Still I can repeat the experience. But it will not be discovery. Still 
I can repeat the experience. —That is, I can get a sensation. The 
repeating of a known reaction upon myself is sensationalism. 
This is what nearly all English people now do. When a man^i 
takes a woman, he is merely repeating a known reaction upon 
himself, not seeking a new reaction, a discovery. And this is like 
self-abuse or masterbation. [Lawrence's spelling.— Ed.] The 
ordinary Englishman of the educated class goes to a woman now 
to masterbate himself. Because he is not going for discovery or 
new connection or progression, but only to repeat upon himself 
a known reaction. 

When this condition arrives, there is always Sodomy. The 
man goes to the man to repeat this reaction upon himself. It is a 
nearer form of masterbation. But still it has some of^/ect- there 
are still two bodies instead of one. A man of strong soul has too 



much honour for the other body— man or woman— to use it as a 
means of masterbation. So he remains neutral, inactive. That is 

Sodomy only means that a man knows he is chained to the 
rock, so he will try to get the finest possible sensation out of 

This happens whenever the form of any living becomes too 
strong for the life within it : the clothes are more important than 
the man: therefore the man must get his satisfaction beneath 
the clothes. 

Any man who takes a woman is up against the unknown. 
And a man prefers rather to have nothing to do with a woman 
than to have to slink away without answering the challenge. Or 
if he is a mean souled man, he will use the woman to masterbate 

There comes a point when the shell, the form of life, is a prison 
to the life. Then the life must either concentrate on breaking the 
shell, or it must turn round, turn in upon itself, and try infinite 
variations of a known reaction upon itself. Which produces a 
novelty. So that "The Rosary" is a new combination of known 
re-actions— so is Gilbert Cannan's "Young Earnest''— so is the 
cinematograph drama & all our drama & all our literature. 

Or, the best thing such a life can do, that knows it is confined, 
is to set-to to arrange and assort all the facts & knowledge of the 
contained life. Which is what Plato did & what most of our 
writers are doing on a mean scale. They know that they are 



enclosed entirely by the shell, the form of living. There is no 
going beyond it. They are bound down. 

Now either we have to break the shell, the form, the whole 
frame, or we have got to turn to this inward activity of setting 
the house in order & drawing up a list before we die. 

But we shall smash the frame. The land, the industries, the 
means of communication & the pubHc amusements shall all be 
nationalised. Every man shall have his wage till the day of his 
death, whether he work or not, so long as he works when he is 
fit. Every woman shall have her wage till the day of her death, 
whether she work or not, so long as she works when she is fit- 
keeps her house or rears her children. 

Then, and then only, shall we be able to begin living. Then we 
shall be able to begin to work. Then we can examine marriage 
and love and all. Till then, we are fast within the hard, unliving, 
impervious shell. 

You must have patience with me & understand me when my 
language is not clear. 

I shall come and see you on the Sunday, March 7th, if you 
still invite me, because I want to meet Lowes Dickinson & the 
good people you are going to introduce me to. 

It is very nice and spring-like. The birds are beginning to sing. 
I laugh at them. Their voices are quite rusty & stiff with a winter 
of disuse. The blackbird goes at it so hard, to get his whistle 
clear, & the wood-pigeon is so soon disheartened. 

Yours sincerely 
D. H. Lawrence 





26 Feb. 1915 
Dear Bertrand Russell, 

Your letter was very kind to me, & somehow made me feel as 
if I were impertinent— a bit. You have worked so hard in the 
abstract beyond me, I feel as if I should never be where you have 
been for so long, & are now— it is not my destiny. And if you are 
there beyond me, I feel it impertinent to talk & write so vehe- 
mently. I feel you are tolerant when you listen. Which is rather 
saddening. I wish you'd tell me when I am foolish & over- 

I have only to stick to my vision of a life when men are freer 
from the immediate material things, where they need never be as 
they are now on the defense against each other, largely because 
of the struggle for existence, which is a real thing, even to those 
who need not make the struggle. So a vision of a better life must 
include a revolution of society. And one must fulfil ones vision 
as much as possible. And the drama shall be between individual 
men & women, not between nations & classes. And the great 
living experience for every man is his adventure into the woman. 
And the ultimate passion of every man is to » realise « be within 
himself the whole of mankind— which I call social passion— 
which is what brings to fruit your philosophical writings. The 



man embraces in the woman all that is not himself, and from 
that one resultant, from that embrace, comes every new action. 

Apart from this, a man can only take that which is already 
known, hold it to himself, and say "this is good— or true— and 
this is not good, not true/' But this is only the sifting or re-stating 
of that which is given, it is not the making of a new movement, a 
new combination. 

I hope this doesn't sound all foolish to you. 

I wrote a book about these things— I used to call it Le Qui 
Savaire. I want now to re- write this stuff, & make it as good as I 
can, & publish it in pamphlets, weekly or fortnightly, & so start 
a campaign for »my<< this freer life. I want to talk about it when 
I come to Cambridge. I want to come— I want to come on the 
6th & stay to the 8tb— but are the two nights too long? I don't 
want you to put up with my talk, when it is foolish, because you 
think perhaps it is passionate. And it is not much good my asking 
you about your work. I should have to study it a long time first. 
And it is not in me. I feel quite sad, as if I talked a little vulgar 
language of my own which nobody understood. But if people 
all turn into stone or pillars of salt, one must still talk to them. 
You must put off your » greater « further knowledge and experi- 
ence, & talk to me my way, & be with me, or I feel a babbling idiot 
& an intruder. My world is real, it is a true world, »& my heart 
knows it.« & it is a world I have in my measure understood. But 
no doubt you also have a true world, which I can't understand. 
It makes me »very« sad to conclude that. But you must live in 


D. H. Lawrence's letters I 

my world, while I am there. Because it is also a real world. And 
it is a world you can inhabit with me, if I can't inhabit yours with 

I hope I shall see Lowes Dickinson too. 

D. H. Lawrence 






Will you tell me if I must bring evening suit : don't bother to 
write if it is not necessary— but a line if it is 

March 2 1915 
Dear Russell, 

I shall come on Saturday by the train arriving Cambridge 
6 • 2, leaving Liverpool St. 4 • 50. But if I can get a week-end 
ticket from London, and if it obliges me to come by another 
train, I will send you a post card on Friday night. I hope that 
will do. 

I have finished my novel so am very glad. I am also very 
excited about my novel. I feel like a bird in spring that is amazed 
at the colours of its own coat. 

Also I feel very profound about my book "The Signal''— Le 
Gai Saver— or whatever it is— which I am re-beginning. It is my 
revolutionary utterance. I take on a very important attitude of 
profundity to it, & so feel happy. 

Also I feel frightfully important coming to Cambridge— quite 
momentous the occasion is to me. I don't want to be horribly 
j impressed and intimidated, but am afraid I may be. I only care 
about the revolution we shall have. But immediately I only want 
us to be friends. But you are so shy & then I feel so clumsy, so 
clownish. Don't make me see too many people at once, or I lose 



my wits. I am afraid of concourses and clans and societies and 
cliques— not so much of individuals. Truly I am rather afraid. 


D. H. Lawrence 






Thank you very much for the umbrella. 

Monday [March 15,1915] 
Dear Russell, 

I wanted to write to you when there was something to write 
about: also when I could send you some of the ''philosophy''. 
But the time goes by, & I haven't done enough of the writing, & 
there isn't any news. I shall send you the philosophy when I have 
done these first crucial chapters. I cannot help being very much 
interested in God & the devil— particularly the devil— and in 
immortality. I cannot help writing about them in the ''philoso- 
phy". But all the time I am struggling in the dark— very deep in 
the dark— and cut off from everybody & everything. Sometimes 
I seem to stumble into the light, for a day, or even two days- 
then in I plunge again, God knows where & into what utter 
darkness of chaos. I don't mind very much. But sometimes I am 
afraid of the terrible things that are real, in the darkness, and 
of the entire unreality of these things I see. It becomes like a 
madness at last, to know one is all the time walking in a pale 
assembly of an unreal world— this house, this furniture, the sky 
& the earth— whilst oneself is all the while a piece of darkness 
pulsating in shocks, & the shocks & the darkness are real. The 
whole universe of darkness & dark passions— the subterranean 



universe— not inferno, because that is ''after"— the subterranean 
black universe of the things which have not yet had being— has 
conquered for me now, & I can't escape. So I think with fear ofj 
having to talk to anybody, because I can't talk. 

But I wanted to write this to ask you please to be with me— 
in the underworld— or at any rate to wait for me. Don't let me 
go, that is all. Keep somewhere, in the darkness of reality, a 
connection with me. I feel there is something to go through- 
something very important. It may be it is only in my own soul— 
but it seems to grow more & more looming, & this day time 
reality becomes more & more unreal, as if one wrote from a grave 
or a womb— they are the same thing, at opposite extremes. I 
wish you would swear a sort of allegiance with me. 

D. H. Lawrence 




Friday [March 19, 191 5] 
Dear Russell, 

It is true Cambridge made me very black & down. I cannot 
bear its smell of rottenness, marsh-stagnancy. I get a melancholic 
malaria. How can so sick people rise up? They must die first. 

I was too sad to write my ''philosophy'' (forgive the word) 
any more. I can't write it when I am depressed or hopeless. But 
it comes back all right, the philosophy & the belief. God help 
us, & give us endurance. 

When will you come & see us? Don't lapse back from the 
promise. Remember you will come & we will have a good time- 
vogue la galere. Will ask Mr. Hardy if he will come & see us 
during vacation— I should be glad. 

You know Lady Ottoline is making us a cottage at Garsington 
which she will lend to us. She is so generous, one shrinks a bit. 
One feels one would rather give things to a woman so generous. 
Do you think it will make an appreciable difference to her to 
make the cottage?— to her weight of expenses? 

Do you still speak at the W. D. C. of the nations kissing each 
other, when your soul prowls the frontier all the time most jeal- 
ously, to defend what it has & to seize what it can. It makes me 
laugh when you admit it. But we are all like that. Only, let us 
seize and defend that which is worth having, & which we want. 

Saluti di cuore 

D. H. Lawrence 





Thrsday [sic] [April 29, 1915] 
Dear Russell, 

They are going to make me a bankrupt because I can*t— & 
won't— pay the £150 of the divorce costs. I wouldn't pay them 
if I were a millionaire— I would rather go to prison. Messrs 
Goldberg Newall & Co, beasts, bugs, leeches, shall not have a 
penny from me if I can help it. 

Today a very unclean creature came & gave me a paper, say- 
ing I must go on May 1 0th before the registrar & declare what 
debts are owing me. Fm sorry to say the publishers owe about 
£200, but as that is the last money I can possibly make for the 
next two years, they won't take it all from me. 

Would you believe it, the unclean object gave me 25/, & a 
paper— & I had to sign the receipt "25/— for conduct money". 
What conduct? I am still gazing blankly at the golden sovereign. 
But I spat on it for luck. 

I cannot tell you how this reinforces in me my utter hatred 
of the whole establishment— the whole constitution of England 
as it now stands. I wish I were a criminal instead of a bankrupt. 
But softly— softly. I will do my best to lay a mine under their 

So we shall come to town on May 8th. I hope we shall be able 



to see you. I don't know where we shall stay, but I shall let you 

Don't imagine I want any money— I don't. I wish I could tell 
the registrar I had n't twopence— neither in hand nor owing. 
But I can't, because Methuen owes me £190— to be paid when 
this novel is published. 

I wanted to write & tell you— I don't know why. But you can't 
»tell« imagine how it wears on one, having at every moment to 
resist this established world, & to know its unconscious hostility. 
For I am hostile, hostile, hostile to all that is, in our public & 
national life. I want to destroy it. 

Let us know if you will be in town next weekend but one. 
Herzliche— no, Freundliche Grusse, Frieda says. 

D. H. Lawrence 





29 May 1915 
Dear Russell, 

If they hound you out of Trinity, so much the better: I am 
glad. Entire separation, that is what must happen to one: not 
even the nominal shelter left, not even the mere fact of inclusion 
in the host. One must be entirely cast forth. 

As for political revolution, that too must come. But now, only 
the darkness thrusts more & more between us all, like a sword, 
cutting us off entirely each from the other, severing us and 
burying us each one separate in the utter darkness. After this 
we shall know the change, we shall really move back in one 
movement to the sun. Except a seed die, it bringeth not forth. 
Only wait. Our death must be accomplished first, then we will 
rise up. Only wait, & be ready. We shall have to sound the resur- 
rection soon. Leave your Cambridge then: that is very good. 
And let us die from this life, from this year of life, & rise up 
when the winter is drawing over, after the time in the tomb. But 
we are never dead. When everything else is gone, & there is no 
touch nor sense of each other left, there is always the sense of \ 

God, of the Absolute. Our sense of the Absolute is the only sense ! 


left to us. 

Soon we are leaving here. You must come & see us before we ! 
go, if you can. It is beautiful. We are one in allegiance, really, 



you & I. We have one faith, we must unite in one fight. Wait 
only a little while— 

D. H. Lawrence 




2 June 1915 
Dear Russell, 

We shall be very glad to see you on June 19th— ii we are still 
here. If we want to go away I shall tell you. 

I shall be glad when you have strangled the invincible respec- 
tability that dogs your steps. What does it mean, really— Integer 
Vitae Scelerisque purus? But before what tribunal? I refuse to 
be judged by them. It is not for them to exculpate or to blame 
me. They are not my peers. Where are my peers? I acknowledge 
no more than five or six— not so many— in the world. But one 
must take care of the pack. When they hunt together they are 
very strong. Tiever expose yourself to the pack. Be careful of 
them. Be rather their secret enemy, the secret enemy, working 
to split up & dismember the pack from inside, not from outside. 
Don't make attacks from outside. Don't give yourself into their 
power. Don't do it. 

And whoever dies, let us not die. Let us kill this hydra, this 
pack, before we die. 

I shall be glad to see you again. I shall give you my philosophy. 

Hillaire [Hilaire] Belloc says, peace in two months. All the 
Bellocites are convinced. I am not. I think like you, more death, 
& ever more death, till the fire burns itself out. Let it be so— I am 
willing. But I won't die. Let us remain & get a new start made, 
when we can get a look in. Yrs 

D. H. Lawrence 



8 June 1915 
Dear Russell, 

I send you the first quarter of my philosophy. You must 
n't think it bosh. I depend on you to help me with it. Don't go 
against me, & say it doesn't interest you, or that there are beau- 
tiful things in it, or something like that. But help me, & tell me 
where I can say the thing better. 

I got the Labour Leader with your article against Lord North- 
cliffe. I think Lord Northcliffe wants sinking to the bottom, but 
you do say rash things, & give yourself away. Let me beg you 
not to get into trouble now, at this juncture. I do beg you to save 
yourself for the great attack, later on, when the opportunity 
comes. We must go much deeper & beyond Lord Northcliffe. 
Let us wait a little while, till we can assemble the nucleus of a 
new belief, get a new centre of attack, not using Labour Leaders 
& so on. 

We are going to Garsington Saturday— » Tuesday « Wednes- 
day. I wonder if we shall see you there. At any rate you are 
coming to us on the \9th. Then we will thresh out this business. 
I wonder if you would like to meet Murry— but not this time. 

D. H. Lawrence 
Don't be rash now, against Northcliffes. They will fall. 


[LETTER 1 0] 


Wednesday [July 6, 1915] 
Dear Russell, 

Are you doing the lectures. I have dropped writing my phi- 
losophy, but I go on working very hard in my soul. I shall lift 
up my voice in the autumn, & in connection with you, not apart. 
I have been wrong, much too Christian, in my philosophy. These 
early Greeks have clarified my soul. I must drop all about God. 

You must drop all your democracy. You must not believe in 
"the people". One class is no better than another. It must be a 
case of Wisdom, or Truth. Let the working classes be working 
classes. That is the truth. There must be an aristocracy of people 
»of<< who have wisdom, & there must be a Ruler: a Kaiser: 
no Presidents & democracies. I shall write out Herakleitos, on 
tablets of bronze. 

''And it is law, too, to obey the Council of one." 

"For what thought or wisdom have they? They follow the 
poets & take the crowd as their teacher, knowing not that there 
are many bad & few good. For even the best of them choose one 
thing above all others, immortal glory among mortals: while 
more of them are glutted like beasts." 

"They vainly purify themselves by defiling themselves with 

I am sure, now, that if we go on with the war, we shall be 
beaten by Germany. I am sure that, unless the new spirit comes, 



we shall be ^^ badly << irrecoverably beaten. Remember when you 
write your lectures, that you are a beaten nation. We are a beaten 
nation. It is no longer a case for satire or gibe or criticism. It is 
for a new »hope,« truth, a further belief. 

Also we must write together, not work apart. 

I am rid of all my Christian religiosity. It was only a muddi- 
ness. You need not mistrust me. In fact you don't. 

In » about « a fortnight now I shall come to town. 

Murry, on the Sunday, was himself again. 

"If you do not expect the unexpected, you will not find it. For 
it is hard to sought out, and difficult." 

It is only the unexpected can help us now. 

D. H. Lawrence 


[LETTER 1 1 ] 




Friday 15 July. [1915] 
In your lecture on the State, you must criticise the extant 
democracy, the young idea. That is our enemy. This existing 
phase is now in its collapse. What we must hasten to prevent 
is this young democratic party from getting into power. The idea 
of giving power to the hands of the working class is wrong. The 
working man must elect the immediate government, of his 
>>wife<< work, of his »home<< district, not the ultimate govern- 
ment of the nation. There must be a body of chosen patricians. 
There must be >>a<< woman governing equally with men, espe- 
cially all the » domestic [?]<< inner half of life. The whole must 
culminate in an absolute Dictator, & an equivalent Dictatrix. 
There must be none of your bourgeois presidents of Republics. 
The women's share must be equal with the men's. You must work 
this out in your own way. But you must do it. 

Can't you see the whole state is collapsing. Look at the Welsh 
strike. This war is going to develop into the last great war be- 
tween labour & capital. It will be a ghastly chaos of destruction, 
if it is left to Labour to be constructive. The fight must imme- 
diately be given a higher aim than the triumph of Labour, or we 
shall have another French Revolution. The deadly Hydra now 
is the hydra of Equality. Liberty, Equality & Fraternity is the 


444X4-4mC* 'I^-**-^/^ '^ 44(^,^«>v*<V'V->u^*^ t-a..»ju:< KjAytyt^ C^^<y-tr^ ^ 

1^ _^ .„— — — - 

A page from Letter Number 1 1 


three-fanged serpent. You must have a government based upon 
good, better & best. You must get this into your lectures, at 
once. You are too old-fashioned. The back of your serpent is 
already broken. 

A>>n<< new constructive idea of a new state is needed immedi- 
ately. Criticism is unnecessary. It is behind the times. You must 
work out the idea of a new state, not go on criticising this old 
one. Get anybody & everybody to help— Orage, Shaw, anybody, 
but it »1[?] « must be a new State. And the idea is, that every man 
I shall vote according to his » higher <^ understanding, & that the 
j highest understanding must dictate for the lower understandings. 
I And the desire is to have a perfect government perfectly related 
in all its parts, the highest aim of the government is the highest 
good of the soul, of the individual, the fulfilment in the Infinite, 
in the Absolute. 

In a fortnight I shall come & take account of you 

D. H. L. 


[LETTER 1 2] 


26 July 1915 
Dear Russell, 

I rather hated your letter, & am terrified of what you are 
putting in your lectures. I don't want tyrants. But I don't believe 
in democratic control. I think the working man is fit to elect 
governors or overseers for his immediate circumstances, but for 
no more. You must utterly revise the electorate. The working 
man shall elect superiors for the things that concern him imme- 
diately, no more. From the other classes, as they rise, shall be 
elected the higher governors. The thing must culminate in one 
real head, as every organic thing must— no foolish republics with 
foolish presidents, but an elected King, something like Julius 
Caesar. And as the men elect & govern the industrial side of life, 
so the women must elect & govern the domestic side. And there 
must be a rising rank of women governors, as of men, culminat- 
ing in a woman Dictator, of equal authority with the supreme 
Man. It is n't bosh, but rational sense. The whole thing must be 
living. Above all there must be no democratic control— that is 
the worst of all. There must be an elected aristocracy. 

As for Horace [Horatio] Bottomley, a nation in a false system 
acting in a false spirit will quite rightly choose him. But a nation 
striving for the truth & the establishment of truth & right will 
forget him in a second. 

I shan't come to Garsington at once, because I am not quite 



in the mood. We are going on Friday to the seaside, to Little- 
hampton for a week. Then we go to London. Then we might 
arrange a meeting all together at Garsington, if Lady Ottoline 
can do with us. 

I care only about the autumn venture— that must be a real 

Frieda sends her greetings 


D. H. Lawrence 
We must have the same general ideas if we are going to be or to 
do anything. I will listen gladly to all your ideas : but we must 
put our ideas together. This is a united effort, or it is nothing— 
a mere tiresome playing about, lecturing & so on. It is no mere 
personal voice that must be raised : but a sound, living idea round 
which we all rally. 


[LETTER 1 3] 





5 Aug 1915 
Dear Russell, 

We are up here now for good— in the throes of furnishing. It 
is a great struggle. But it won't take long. When it is sufficiently 
done, let us go to Garsington if Lady Ottoline is free. At present 
I am delivered up to chairs & tables & door-mats. You might 
come up & see us on Saturday if you are in town. I am very dis- 
located & unhappy in these new circumstances— but shall get 
all right soon. We will put our heads together directly, though. 

Auf wiedersehen 

D. H. Lawrence 


[LETTER 1 4] 


5 Sept 1915 
Dear Russell, 

We are going to start a little paper, myself & Murry & Kath- 
arine Mansfield (Mrs Murry)— & you & Cannan if you care to 
join. We have found a little printer in the East End, who will 
print us a little booklet, leaves of the same size as the Mercure 
de France, on decent paper, 36 pages of 36 lines each (about 10 
words a line), 250 copies for £6: or 28 pages for £5. I think we 
shall call it "The Signature''— which means a little booklet made 
out of one folded leaf— also whatever else you like. At present, 
we think of having 28 pages. It will be 10,000 words: that is 
about 3000 words each. It will come out every fortnight, & will 
be posted to subscribers. It is not for public sale (not at first, at 
any rate), but we are going to get subscribers, people who care 
about things, 2/6 subscription for 3 months (6 copies), postage 
free. I shall be the preacher, Murry will be the revealer of the 
individual soul with respect to the big questions, particularly he 
will give an account of the real freedom of the individual soul, 
as he conceives it; Katharine will do satirical sketches. You will 
do something serious, I hope, & Gilbert can flounder prehistori- 

250 half crowns are £3l"5"0. That would just pay for the 
6 copies of 28 pages each, & for postage. 

The thing would come out the first & third Monday in every 



month, beginning the first Monday in October, if possible. The 
printer must have the copy 1 5 days before pubHcation, because 
he does everything himself. 

I only want people who really care, & who really want a new 
world, to subscribe. If we lose money, it can't be very much. 
Murry & I will share that. At any rate we shall try the three 

I wish, if you are in town, you would come & see us. 


D. H. Lawrence 


[LETTER 1 5 ] 
On 'The Danger to Civilization'' 


14 Sept 1915 
Dear Russell, 

Vm going to quarrel with you again. You simply don't speak 
the truth, you simply are not sincere. The article you send me 
is a plausible lie, and I hate it. If it says some true things, that is 
not the point. The fact is that you, in the Essay, are all the time 
a lie. 

Your basic desire is the maximum of desire of war, you are 
really the super-war-spirit. What you want is to jab and strike, 
like the soldier with the bayonet, only you are sublimated into 
words. And you are like a soldier who might jab»s« man after 
man with his bayonet, saying ''this is for ultimate peace." The 
soldier »is« would be a liar. And it isn't in the least true that 
you, your basic self, want ultimate peace. You are satisfying in 
an indirect, false way your lust to jab and strike. Either satisfy 
it in a direct and honorable way, saying "I hate you all, liars 
and swine, and am out to set upon you", or stick to mathema- 
tics, where you can be true— But to come as the angel of peace- 
no, I prefer Tirpitz a thousand times in that role. 

You are simply full of repressed desires, which have become 
savage and anti-social. And they come out in this sheep's cloth- 
ing of peace propaganda. As a woman said to me, who had been 
to one of your meetings: 'It seemed so strange, with his face 



looking SO evil, to be talking about peace and love. He can't have 
meant what he said/' 

I believe in your inherent power for realising the truth. But I 
don't believe in your will, not for a second. Your will is false and 
>>dark<< cruel. You are too full of devilish repressions to be any- 
thing but lustful and cruel. I would rather have the German 
soldiers with rapine and cruelty, than you with your words of 
goodness. It is the falsity I can't bear. I would n't care if you were 
six times a murderer, so long as you said to yourself, "I am this." 
The enemy of all mankind, you are, full of the lust of enmity. 
It is not the hatred of falsehood which inspires you. It is the 
hatred of people, »all people « of flesh and blood. It is a per- 
verted, mental blood-lust. Why don't you own it. 

Let us become strangers again, I think it is better. 

D. H. Lawrence 


[LETTER 1 6] 





17 Nov. 1915 
Dear Russell, 

I am sorry we have promised to go out to dinner on Thursday. 
Could you come on Friday to tea, if you wish to leave town in 
the afternoon. Lady Ottoline is coming I think to lunch. 

Also I may have to stay in England a little longer, to fight for 
my novel. Yesterday I heard from the Authors Society that they 
will probably stand by me, because the book was condemned 
wholly without reference to me. I don't want to stay, because 
now we are ready, quite ready, to go. But if I must stay to fight 
about the book, I will stay. 

But you will come on Friday to see us. I shall be very glad 
to talk to you again, to be friends. After all, my quarrelling 
with you was largely a quarrelling with something in myself, 
something I was struggling away from in myself. 


D. H. Lawrence 


[LETTER 17] 
Dec. [6] 1915 





Dear Russell, 

We want to go away to America, soon— on tKe 24th of this 
month, if possible. Will you come up & see us one day this 
week— Friday evening perhaps? I should be glad to see you 
before we go: so would Frieda. We are not really enemies: it is 
only a question of attitude. 

I send you your book. Thank you very much for lending it 
me. Do come and see us one day this week. 


D. H. Lawrence 


[ L E T T E R 1 8 ] 


8 Dec. 1915 
Dear Russell, 

I called to see you yesterday but you were out. I hope you 
will come up and see us soon. —No definite developement in 
our plans. 

I have been reading Frazer's Golden Bough and Totemism 
& Exogamy. Now I am convinced of what I believed when I 
was about twenty— that there is another seat of consciousness 
than the brain & the nerve system : there is a blood-consciousness 
which exists in us independently of the ordinary mental con- 
sciousness, which depends on the eye as its source or connector. 
There is the blood-consciousness, with the sexual connection 
holding the same relation as the eye, in seeing, holds to the 
mental consciousness. One lives, knows, and has one's being in 
the blood, without any reference to nerves and brain. This is one 
half of life, belonging to the darkness. And the tragedy of this 
our life, and of your life, is that the mental and nerve conscious- 
ness exerts a tyranny over the blood-consciousness and that 
your will has gone completely over to the mental consciousness, 
and is engaged in the destruction of your blood-being or blood- 
consciousness, the final liberating of the one, which is only death 
in result. Plato was the same. Now it is necessary for us to 
realise that there is this other great half of our life active in the 
darkness, the blood-relationship: that when I see, there is a 



connection between my mental-consciousness and an outside 
body, forming a percept; but at the same time, there is a trans- 
mission through the darkness which is never absent from the 
light, into my blood-consciousness: but in seeing, the blood- 
percept is perhaps not strong. On the other hand, when I take 
a woman, then the blood-percept is supreme, my blood-knowing 
is overwhelming. There is a transmission, I don't know of what, 
between her blood & mine, in the act of connection. So that 
afterwards, even if she goes away, the blood-consciousness per- 
sists between us, when the mental consciousness is suspended; 
and I am formed then by my blood-consciousness, not by my 
mind or nerves at all. 

Similarly in the transmission from the blood of the mother to 
the embryo in the womb, there goes the whole blood conscious- 
ness. And when they say a mental image is sometimes trans- 
mitted from the mother to the embryo, this is not the mental 
image, but the blood-image. All living things, even plants, have 
a blood-being. If a lizard falls on the breast of a pregnant 
woman, then the blood-being of the lizard passes with a shock 
into the blood-being of the woman, and is transferred to the 
foetus, probably without intervention either of nerve or brain 
consciousness. And this is the origin of totem : and for this reason 
some tribes no doubt really were kangaroos: they contained 
the blood-knowledge of the kangaroo.— And blood knowledge 
comes either through the mother or through the sex— so that 



dreams at puberty are as good an origin of the totem as the per- 
cept of a pregnant woman. 

This is very important to our living, that we should realise 
that we have a blood-being, a blood-consciousness, a blood-soul, 
complete and apart from the mental & nerve consciousness. 

Do you know what science says about these things? It is very 
important: the whole of our future life depends on it. 


D. H. Lawrence 


[LETTER 1 9] 


Wednesday [December 22-23 [?], 1915] 
Dear Russell, 

I got your letter this morning: thank you for the £2. We sent 
the reproductions to Lady Ottoline— they were really beautiful. 
But I haven't had the bill yet: I will straighten up with you when 
it comes. 

We go to Cornwall on Thursday— 3 Otb. The address is c/o 
J D Beresford, Porthcothan St. Merryn, Padstow, Cornwall. 
Come and see us there— & stay a week or so. Don't be so 
despondent about your lectures. 

We are waiting to go to Florida, for the others. We must go 
as a little body: it is not a personal matter— it is a bigger thing. 
There are several young people very anxious to come. I must 
wait for them. I can't go without them. We shall be six or seven. 
As soon as they are free to come, then we shall sail off. It is all 
so complicated, because of money & the war. They are all very 
young people. We can go & start a new life in a new spirit— a 
spirit of coming together, not going apart. Won't you come to 
Florida too? Do! It is hopeless to stay in England. Do you come 
& be president of us. 

It is so queer being up here at home. The colliers are queer 
too. I wish you were here to have a talk. But more & more I real- 
ise it is hopeless to stay in England. 

Greetings from Frieda & me D. H. Lawrence 

Thank you for sending the ticket to Barbara Low. 

[LETTER 20] 




13 Jan 1916. 
Dear Bertie, 

I have never written to you all the while we have been here, 
and Tve thought about you nearly every day, wondering & 
wondering what you are doing and how you are feeling; how 
the lectures are now, & when you begin them, and how you feel 
about them. Do write and let me know. 

I owe you some money. We got those frescoes for 3 guineas. 
That is, your share, 31/6. Therefore I owe you 8/6. I will 
send it you, I won't forget. 

I like being here very much. Cornwall isn't England. It isn't 
really England, nor Christendom. It has another quality: of 
King Arthur's days, that flicker of Celtic consciousness before it 
was swamped under Norman and Teutonic waves. I like it very 
much. I like the people also. They've got a curious softness, and 
intimacy. I think they've lived from just the opposite principle 
to Christianity: self -fulfilment and social destruction, instead of 
social love & self-sacrifice. So here there is no social structure, 
hardly, & the people have hardly any social self: only the imme- 
diate intimate self. That's why they're generally disliked. And 
that's why they were wreckers & smugglers & all antisocial 
things. And that's why the roads are too dodgy to be grasped. 



And that's why there is such a lovely intimate softness in the 

I have suddenly launched off into my philosophy again. Now 
this time I have got it— my heart is satisfied. I don't want to polish 
it up, I am so pleased with it. I shall send it you when it is done 
& typed out, and you must read it with pleasure. 

At present Heseltine and Kouzoumdjian are here. I don't 
know how long they will stay. It is a wee bit painful— these young 
individualists are so disintegrated: are the young more sound 
than the old? It seems to me they are much more sick. 

We've got a jolly old farmhouse, & a good housekeeper. I wish 
you could come & see us. Come & stay, when your lectures are 
over, will you. Do come. We shall be here I think till the middle 
of March— then where, I dont know. 

We are just on the sea, looking down into a little cove. The 
water smashes up the black rocks. It is nice. Then the bare, 
unformed, uhrzeitig landscape— there really might be rock-hurl- 
ing giants & odd pixies. If only it were n't all cut up into fields! 
If only the Cornish had n't become foully and uglily Wesleyan. 
Alas alas! 

What is going to become of the world? I wish we were off to 
Florida. The desert is the only place. 

Frieda sends her love, I mine. 


D. H. Lawrence 
Write & tell me how things are with you 


[LETTER 2 1 ] 


11 Feb. 1916 
My dear Russell, 

I have been thinking about you and your lectures. Are they 
really a success, & really vital? Are you really glad?— or only 
excited? I want to know, truly. 

I have been very seedy down here— really felt as if I should 
die— but now am getting better quickly. 

What a bitter thing it is, to feel swamped right over by these 
seas of utter falsehood. One does really die. But one is not dead. 

I have been thinking, the only idea is to found a publishing 
company, that publishes for the sake of the truth. That is the 
only way. The spoken word nowadays is almost bound to be 
a lie: because the collective listening ear is a lie. I could never 
speak truth to 20 collected people. 

We must send round circulars for our publishing : begin with 
The Rainbow: publish it at 7 /^, by subscription. When we 
have a sufficient number of names to justify us, we could begin. 
Then we could go on, print every other month a real book, if a 
real book came. If no real book came, then we would wait till it 
did. A book is a holy thing, & must be made so again. 

Tell me how you are, & how things are with you, & if you agree 
about the publishing concern. 


D. H. Lawrence 

[LETTER 22] 


Saturday [February 19, 1916] 
My dear Russell, 

1 did n't like your letter. What's the good of living as you do, 
anyway. I don't believe your lectures are good. They are nearly 
over, are n't they? 

What's the good of sticking in the damned ship and harangu- 
ing the merchant-pilgrims in their own language. Why don't 
you drop overboard? Why don't you clear out of the whole 

One must be an outlaw these days, not a teacher or preacher. 
One must retire out of the herd & then fire bombs into it. You 
said in your lecture on education that you did n't set much count 
by the unconscious. That is sheer perversity. The whole of the 
consciousness and the conscious content is old hat— the mill- 
stone round your neck. 

Do cut it— cut your will and leave your old self behind. Even 
your mathematics are only dead truth: and no matter how fine 
you grind the dead meat, you'll not bring it to life again. 

Do stop working & writing altogether and become a creature 
instead of a mechanical instrument. Do clear out of the whole 
social ship. Do for your very pride's sake become a mere noth- 
ing, a mole, a creature that feels its way & does n't think. Do 
for heavens sake be a baby, & not a savant any more. Don't do 
anything any more— but for heavens sake begin to fce— start at 



the very beginning and be a perfect baby : in the name of courage. 

Oh, and I want to ask you, when you make your will, do leave 
me enough to live on. I want you to live for ever. But I want you 
to make me in some part your heir. 

We have got to clear out of this house in a week's time. We 
are looking for another house. You had better come & live near 
us : but not if you are going to be a thinker and a worker, only 
if you are going to be a creature, an infant. The Murrys are 
coming to live with us in April, they say. 

Heseltine is starting the publishing scheme. I should n't won- 
der if he would make something of it, if he is n't conscripted. I 
feel as if we were all living on the edge of a precipice. Soon I 
shall be penniless, & they'll shove me into munitions, & I shall 
tell 'em what I think of 'em, & end my days in prison or a mad- 
house. But I don't care. One can still write bombs. But I don't 
want to be penniless and at their mercy. Life is very good of 
itself, and I am terrified lest they should get me into their power. 
They seem to me like an innumerable host of rats, & once they 
get the scent, one is lost. 

My love to you. Stop working and being an ego, & have the 
courage to be a creature. 


D. H. Lawrence 


[LETTER 23] 


9 March 1916 
My dear Russell, 

Are you still cross with me for being a schoolmaster & for not 
respecting the rights of man? Don't be, it isn't worth it. 

Your lectures are over, are they? What are you going to do 

We have taken a tiny cottage here, for £5 a year, which we 
shall furnish. We shall live very cheaply, because we are going 
to be very poor indeed. But just under the wild hills with their 
great grey boulders of granite, and above the big sea, it is beau- 
tiful enough, & free enough. I think we can be obscure, and 
happy, like creatures in a cave. 

You must come down to Cornwall some time and have rooms 
in a farm-house. Will you do that? 

One must learn to be happy & careless. The old world never 
tumbles down except a young world shoves it over, heedlessly. 
And Vm sure the young world must be jolly. So let us have a 
good time to ourselves while the old world tumbles over itself. 
It is no good bothering. Nothing is born by taking thought. 
That which is born comes of itself. All we can do is to refrain 
from frustrating the new world which »from<< is being born in us. 

At the present we only think of getting into our tiny cottage- 
furnishing, & so on. Later we can dance with the springtime, 
very soon. 



I hope we shall see you before long. 


D. H. Lawrence 




7f:;e following material is the lecture outline Hussell sent Lawrence early 
in July of i9i5, prefaced by Lawrence's criticism of it. Hussell's manu- 
script is full of Lawrence's marginal and interlinear disagreements, 
superimposed on Russell's typescript. Jhese are here printed in scjuare 
brackets and in italics. Words of Russell that Lawrence crossed out are 
enclosed in Irench (Quotation marks » « ,- so are corrections of his own 
remarks. Jhese last are as well in italics and in scjuare brackets. Law- 
rence's comments are written across Russell's manuscript so wildly that 
they make exact typographic reproduction impossible, as the facsimile 
facing p. 88 demonstrates. 


'Don't be angry that 3 have scribbled all over your work. But 
this which you say is all social criticism-, it isn't social reconstruc- 
tion, "you must take a plunge into another element if it is to be 
social reconstruction. 

Primarily, you must allow and acknowledge & be prepared 
to proceed from the fundamental impulse in all of us towards 
7he Iruth, the fundamental passion also, the most fundamental 
passion in man, for Wholeness of Movement, Unanimity of 
"Purpose, Oneness in Construction. This is the principle of Con- 
struction. 7he rest is all criticism, destruction. 

Do, do get these essays ready, for the love of Qod. 'But make 
them more profound, more philosophical. Make them not popu- 
lar, oh, not popular ^>A great idea is «. Jhe best is to attack the 
spirit, then proceed to the form, you call the spirit Subjectivism. 
Do go to the root of this-, kill it at the root. Show how everything 
works upon this great falsity of subjectivism, now. 3 like it where 



you take them one by one, 7he State, Marriage, etc. But you 
must put in the positive idea. Every living community is a living 
State, you must go very deep into the State, & its relation to the 

We shall be at 3 2 Well Walk, Tlampstead-Mrs. Radford- 
this week-end. 1 must see you. 

Above all don't be angry with my scribbling. But above all, 
do do these lectures. 

7 must lecture— or preach— on religion— give myself away. 

'But you must dare very much more than you have done here 
—you must dare be positive, not only critical. 





I. The disease: disintegration. The remedy: cooperation, not 

II. The old cohesions: The State, Property, The Churches, 
Law and Morality, Marriage. All based on Power, not on 
Liberty and Love. All want fundamental reconstruction. 

III. Subjectivism: growth of hard Ego in fight for liberty. 
Luther; philosophy. Two forms of subjectivism : my domin- 
ion, my dominion, my sensations. Hence imperialism and 
decadent vice. No love, but enjoyment of absorbing an- 
other ego, or of sensation of love. 

IV. War: primitive impulse to war only very partially con- 
cerned in this war. Need of excitement; weariness; disillu- 
sionment; impulse to suicide. This war not for any object, 
but subjective; will stop when people are tired of it. 

V. Industrialism : divorce from satisfaction of creative impulse 
through capitalism. Need of economic as well as political 
democracy: syndicalism. Material goods not main need. 
No use in wealth if ennui remains. 

VI. Life made whole: by freedom for impulse of growth and 
creation, by freedom to love. To be achieved by new stand- 
ards, less belief in material goods, then by unity in freedom 
through new political institutions. No use reviving what is 
dead, or keeping alive what is moribund. 



[Cause of Disintegration-. Jhe belief that we cannot know any 
fulfilment save what is allowed by our Civilised System. So our 
impulse towards truth & unanimity is prevented, each man acts 
as if he were in a cage, isolated, beyond good & evil. In this state 
there is only sensational experience left.] 


Cheradame's 'Ta Crise Fran^aise''. His cure: boy scouts. 

Living for sensation: involves loneliness, prevents sense of 
fulfilment, leads on to perpetually stronger sensations because 
it has no attainable goal: ends in cruelty and Sadism. 

One » great source << [^^form^^ example]-, prevention of chil- 
dren; turns thoughts to momentary sensation, isolates act. 

[Vrcvention of children is only a result of disintegration— We 
prevent children because we want individual power [money]. 
Hhe act is isolated in us beforehand. 7he prevention is only a 
following out of what is. Don't dwell on children so much.] 

Another source: living in towns, away from earth. 

[We live in towns from choice, when we subscribe to our great 
civilised form. Ihe nostalgia for the country is not so important. 
What is important is that our towns are false towns— every street 
a blow, every corner a stab.] 

Another source: in men, specialising of activities; in well-to- 
do women, » freedom from house- work and nursing « children. 
[lack of any importance whatever, save sensational effect] 

[Another example] 



Observation of self: result of mental progress. 

Most of these things can't be prevented : must be absorbed by 
some sanative purpose. 

What is wanted is a direct » interest in other people << [no- 
no—] of a kind which develops their life and one's own at once. 
[What is wanted is a knowledge of the true conditions we all 
desire in our souls, putting aside the fetish of what is. IVhat is 
wanted is a conception of a >>true^^ "unanimous" society. We 
want to create a new Whole: that is our fundamental desire] In 
the past, marriage and the family were the great example of this. 
Now both have ceased to be. Husband and wife are an obstacle 
to each other's development; so are parents and children. This is 
due to a ^hardening of the Ego,« [disbelief in the principle on ^ 
which marriage is founded.] leading us to view others as means . 
or hindrances to self-realization. In the struggle for freedom, 
there is a »decay of frank interest^ in others. No self worth 
realizing is possible without a direct feeling about others. Sub- 
jectivism makes the self shrivel. But slavery also is bad. We want 
a life which will keep alive the frank interest >Hn others which 
one sees in dogs for example <% and we want institutions which 
will make this possible without subjecting either or both to 

[7^0 no no, don't talk about interest in others. What you mean 
is the unanimous impulse, the impulse towards a unanimous 
movement. Jt isn't the others we are interested in, it is the Whole, 





the Whole oflAs. We want to make a Whole Movement, lAnani- 

II. (1) »THE ST ATE. « [What State 7 7here are all kinds 
of States. Ours is one of the strongest States in the world] [Ihere 
are 2 conceptions of the State now-, i . Monarchy 2. "Democracy. 
Democracy is the falser.] 

Still strong in Germany and Japan, not elsewhere. Depends 
on tribal feeling and allegiance to monarch, [every man's having 
his supreme ideal in %ingship, in conceiving the %ing to be the 
most Qodlike man.] Both decaying. Two enemies, individualism 
and cosmopolitanism. Why serve other people in same State 
more than foreigners? Only fear now holds State together. 
[7here must he a State, & a government.] ''High treason'' has 
a mediaeval flavour. Can't worship the State. [What can 7 wor- 
ship?] I feel more allegiance to mathematics than to the State. 
[Why?] Syndicalism. French Revolution. Ulster State depends 
on war for its strength. If wars were to cease. States would 

The State is absurd »because« [when] it is geographical. A 
man ought to belong to many groups [a high idea of the truth], 
chosen by himself, each with its own government, with only 
certain federal powers reserved to the geographical state, and 
things like water-supply, which are by nature geographical. 

The [existing] State has two functions: internal peace and 


Russell's manuscript 
external war, police and armaments, security within and inse- 
curity without. In so far as State performs economic services, 
it does only what could be done otherwise. Its essence is the 
suppression of violence within its borders and its promotion else- 
where. It involves an entirely artificial division of mankind and 
of our duties towards them : towards one group we are bound by 
the law, towards the rest only by the prudence of highwaymen. 
This is absurd : external and internal anarchy both right or both 
wrong. Present plan supported (a) because others do it, and it 
is thought the only road to safety (b) because it secures the 
pleasures of triumph, dominion and cruelty. These pleasures are 
native to man, and yet cannot be obtained in a good community. 
Our Utopia must endeavour to compensate in other ways for 
the obstacles to inflicting pain. 

[you must advance on to the New State, where none of our 
sense of Uruth is violated, you must ^Hmagine^"^ give some con- 
ception of it, 8c your perfect belief in it] 

Strength in »the« [this] State is like discipline on a pirate ship. 
The State [as it stands] is in its very essence an evil thing, by its 
exclusions, and by the fact that it is a combination of men for 
murder and robbery. 

[7he state is the expression of a great metaphysical concep- 
tion-, the conception of Qod the Creator, who created the earth 
according to certain Caws, which, if obeyed, would give hap- 

[We proceed to create our State according to our religious 



belief, our philosophical conception of life. 7he Xing represents 
Qod. Jhe Ministers subject to the %ing are the Archangels sub- 
ject to Qod. 

[Jhe metaphysical belief is no longer held, therefore our 
State is a falsity. 

[Ihe State must represent the deepest philosophical or religi- 
ous belief. 

["What do we believe in— Qod the Creator? or the Son of 
!Man7—%ingship or brotherhood, Monarchy or democracy 7— 


Present laws of property quite artificial. Represent power of 
sword (rent) and family pride (inheritance). Should readjust 
law of property with reference to human happiness. Great 
wealth and great poverty are absurd. Inheritance is absurd. 
Equality would be a mistake. Object should be to provide every 
one as far as possible with (1) an occupation which leaves him 
a human being, (2) such a degree of wealth as makes possible the 
life suited to his occupation. No need of long hours. Wealth 
beyond a point ought to be illegal. Land ought to be national. 
Honour and success ought not to be measured by income. In- 
crease in productivity through machines is good, but now we 
are slaves of machines through belief in wealth, which makes 
us work as hard as if there were no machines. 

[7he belief in wealth is ^> every « thing-, go for that: the State 




»/s<< now ^ established^"^ rests on a belief in wealth. It is a rotten 
belief to hold a great Community together.] 


Religion, in some form, seems necessary to a good society or 
a good individual life. By ''religion'' I mean devotion to an end 
outside the individual life, and even, in some sense, outside 
human life— like God or truth or art. But the Churches consist 
of certain property only given to those who profess certain 
beliefs, now known to be false by all who think independently. 
Because freedom leads to rejection of these beliefs, churches 
oppose freedom, and like all forms of unreason— e.g. patriotism 
and loyalty to sovereigns. In thought, they substitute sentiment 
for observation, and so encourage subjectivism, which is the root 
of the trouble. Religion wants as much transformation as mar- 
riage and property. 

Men of science have some elements of a possible new religion. 
They are the happiest of intelligent men. 

[Jhere is no living society possible but one which is held to- 
gether by a great religious idea. We only need not be subjectively 
religious. But one & all we must act from a profound religious 
belief— not ^>human^^ individual, 

[If you don't want to assert any religious belief, then criticise 
the false church. But it all rests on the Christian !Metaphysic, 
which each man severally rejects, but to which we all subscribe 
as a State or Society] 




Law in origin religious. Decalogue and Koran. Lingers in 
marriage law: divorce against law of God, therefore only the 
rich can have it. No respect for law now. [because the TAeXa- 
physic on which it is established is no longer held.] We know 
law is human, we know it is not made in the general interest, 
we know it gets improved by being broken. We no longer feel 
horror of the criminal. All who are rich enough habitually break 
the law. 

Morality is disapproval of community for those who act 
against the holders of power. Hence enemies in war are wicked 
by definition. Morality »is« [has become] essentially part of the 
criminal law: it is a means of bringing self-interest into harmony 
with the interests of others. [Jhere is a good morality. Morality 
is, when it is real, »/s<< the sense of truth, you must put the posi- 
tive side forward, if you are going to oust the old evil] But when 
this is seen, it loses efficacy, since it depends on belief in absolute 
''wickedness". Certain interests uphold it: (1) that it supports 
those in possession, since aggression is wicked, (2) that it pro- 
vides an excuse for hatred and punishment, which are pleasures, 
(3) that it gives occasion for self-esteem, since we ourselves are 
very virtuous. 

Something more positive than morality must take its place, 
since morality is dissolved by thought. [Jhis is so vague. One 
must only know that morality is one's inviolable sense of truth.] 

What shall we do about criminal law? E.g. if people ill-treat 



their children? If men belong to voluntary groups formed by 
common purposes, in most cases expulsion from such groups 
would be sufficient penalty; consider what pains are taken to 
avoid open adultery, because it involves expulsion from Clubs. 
If people ill-treat their children, the children must be taken 
away, and the people made to pay for the expense, not by way 
of penalty, but by way of contracts for other benefits. This will 
probably effect all that punishment would effect. 

How about burglars? In a decent community, the penalties 
against cheating at cards would be quite sufficient, unless a 
community of burglars existed. In that case, stricter measures 
of boycott might be necessary. But the burglars should be treated 
as we treat an enemy state, given every chance to make a treaty 
of peace, or to surrender individually, and not punished if they 
do not persist in burglary. 

Men whose purposes clash with those of most of the com- 
munity, like maniacs and congenital criminals, must be restrained 
in the general interest. We can not have an absolute principle 
against force, but we must look out for ways of minimizing its 

[Cet the law be established on the sense of truth, & then you 
can use force. Because the truth is greater than any one of us. 
But the truth is a growing organism— or our conception of it is.] 

What is essence of morality? [7he sense of Iruth [you must 
say it— or something like it.)] A man's acts affect others [tVO/ 
WO/] therefore others are interested in what he does. A moral 



act is one comf ormable to the desires of the others affected by the 
act. Why should a man be moral? [Why do you use "moral" 
when you only mean "well-behaved"]] Because action against 
the desires of others makes him disliked, which is disagree- 
able to him. [^0/ :N0/ :A/0/ WO/ 5V0/] But this kind 
of morality has a very limited efficacy : ist, it does not apply to 
large groups, like states, for the fact that Germans hate us is 
not disagreeable to us; 2nd, if ''immoral" impulses exist, they 
will often be strong enough to conquer self-interest and fear 
of being disliked. 

The problem for the statesman should be to find out that kind 
of organisation and education which will prevent [which will 
educate the sense of ^^ right and<^ truth & justice, & train us all 
to act from this supreme impulse.] "immoral'' impulses, rather 
than one which merely punishes the indulgence of them. ''Im- 
moral'' impulses are of »two kinds: (1) merely demanding more 
than one's share of personal goods, (2) positive cruelty, envy, 
love of power, etc.<< [one kind: the acting from the sense of the 
human Self, instead of from the sense of Jruth. 7he 7abians 
are immoral] The first of these is easily regulated by institutions 
and appeal to justice. [J^his is not good] The second is almost 
always the result of a life in which some vital instinct is balked; 
it grows out of celibacy, military discipline, slavery, etc. and can 
be cured by giving a free life to everyone. It will then remain 
only in cripples, hunchbacks, etc. 


law and Morality (Cont. ) . ^^ j / 

lla V^A^ ^^ \fT\jSf^^'^ i® a880nc9 of m orality ? / A/i^j^'a^fia'af f^^Jrg^l^s 

I- r /\ "^Ji®3?@for© others -; 
•"T"*"""*'*' Z^ / mors.l act is on© oc 

i\ ."T^ // / raorai act; IS OR0 oonforrtia'ble to the deeiree of the 

ro interested in what he does. A 

pj '^ , ^^JJ^.^>hGr8 affected bj-^.the act- Why should e man be moral? 
_,.,„.-'--''^ 'Z f\'^ Because a^fiou. sgaln^ the depirp* of oth/ranrnke^^'^^ 

* /|vv| ^ i). ^K^-*^- aislllcoa. ^mm Ib aisailWeT^le t(uM .But i^^-kitf^'^ 
/^'Va ^' ^ ' £#^ *5^ morality has a very limited efficacy: let , it does 
irf'jy^ \ ,.^U,--^Jnot apply to largo f^roupe, like stp.tee, for the fact 
,11"' that (rerr.mns hate us is not disagreeable to us; 2nd . 

if "i.ynmorsl" Ijripulses exist, they will often be strong 
er^ouffh to oomtier self-int-rest end fear of being dis- 

'1 I ' il i I 1^® Droblea for the statesman should he to find out that 

• '''' .-. ^ ' /^ 1..^, J Irind of organisation and ©ducotion which will/ pr event. 
He ^^-^ ,^M,,^mi^ ^ ^ ,^S,,rtfftrr ^ 

f* #*' a* r ^-H'' '*' yVoC^*^^^-'^^^" iSBlliSM* lather than one which merely pun- 
h kl /'ii'^l lisArw% ishes the ^indulgence of them. "Immoral" imnulsee ere 
i*. . I . of twe-MMs:' Clt-i]iBT~ey^->*9ia5^ 

/ I cXif .,.aM&3:::&.>-Qj- "p er eo'^ ^^^ g#oa ,a , („ f ^) ^ fl lt j^ ve nm1; a> 1 -. y , ftHYy .. , 

these is easiljr re- 

gulati^^^y i^-tou^t^^MS^ and appeal to justice. The 
second is apsff^ alwajrs the i-esult of a lifo in which 
some Tital instinct ie balked; it s^^owsout of celibacy, 
military discipline, slaTrery, etc, rnd can be cured by 
giTlng 8 freo life to everyone. It will then remain 

A page from RusseH's manuscript showing Lawrence's corrections 


Justice and liberty are what remains of morality. These the 
statesman must respect. 

The principle of 7ao. Growing like a tree. The principle of 
growth in a man must not be crushed. It is not crushed neces- 
sarily by preventing a man from doing some definite thing, but 
it is often crushed by forcing him to do something else. A man 
who cannot marry the woman he loves may come to love some- 
one else, but a man who marries a woman he does not love loses 
something of the instinctive life that makes growth. So a man 
need not adopt the profession he would choose, if some other 
similar profession is open to him/ but if he has to adopt a profes- 
sion repugnant to his instinct, his soul suffers. In a good com- 
munity. Napoleon could not have been allowed the profession 
of his choice, but he might have found happiness as a pioneer in 
Western America. He could not have found happiness as a 
city clerk. 

[And what is the principle of growth: is it not the prescience 
of conscience that which is ^^needed^^ to be,- in the grown tissue 
is all the ungrown tissue of all time-, this ungrown tissue knows 
its own »/<3ii7S<< relations . . this knowledge in us 7 call the sense 
of truth. But it is as real, much realer, than all the tangible or 
obvious impulses we talk of.] 


» Resultant of sex instinct plus jealousy. « [Wo/] Depended 
for success on husband's authority, admitted as a right by wife. 



He free, she willing slave. This was possible. Mutual liberty 
now demanded, makes old form of marriage impossible. Fight 
for liberty by women prevents both them and men from getting 
satisfaction in marriage. Women want to preserve their individu- 
ality; this makes union impossible. Relations become trivial and 
temporary, a pleasure, not a satisfaction, an excitement, not an 
attainment. The old tight family can't be revived. It depended 
on beliefs now known to be false. Seriousness in sex relations 
must be restored otherwise. At present, children only in mar- 
riage, not in other unions. This one source of harm. Sex relations 
bad without love, also without children. At present institutions 
prevent either love or else children in most relations. 

Successful monogamy [now] depends upon the successful 
substitution of habit for emotion »in the course << of years. [SVo /] 
A character which does not readily form habits, or does not find 
habits an adequate safeguard against emotion, is not suited to 
monogamy. [7he desire for monogamy is profound in us. But 
the most difficult thing in the world is to find a mate. It is still 
true, that a man & wife are one flesh. A man alone is only frag- 
mentary—also a woman. Completeness is in marriage. But State- 
marriage is a lie.] No one who is alive will wish to be the slave 
of habit, or to lose the capacity for emotion. For this reason, 
monogamy now often harmful. Sex-relations without a common 
life are bad : (1) they emphasise sex too much, (2) they are excit- 
ing and disturbing, (3) they cannot bring satsif action of instinct. 
But the common life need not last a lifetime. To most men, the 



intention of children, and its realization, are essential to satisfac- 
tion, but not the constant companionship of the children. Chil- 
dren ought to be left with the mother when a marriage breaks 
up, except in exceptional cases. 

A sex-relation entered into by either side for other than 
sexual reasons— e.g. money— is vile; this appHes to prostitution 
and most marriages. It degrades both man and woman, since it 
involves lack of reverence. Any relation which aims merely at 
pleasure fails to bring satisfaction. We ought to remove all 
obstacles to the combination of love, children, and a common 
life, which constitutes a good marriage. This involves opposition 
to monogamy and prostitution, but some tolerance of light rela- 
tions as experiments. 


All these institutions are based on Power, Power of the King, 
»of the husband, of the feudal baron, of God.« [>>a false <■< an 
obsolete metaphysic] Since we no longer believe in Power, all 
live on only by inertia, and all are decaying. Hence hypocrisy. 
Institutions are based on the relation of Master and Slave, where 
the master lived a free life, and the slave had the ''duty'' of min- 
istering to him. Such ''duty'' as we can now have must be not 
towards a master, but towards an ideal, and it must be of the 
nature of love for an ideal. The relations of human beings should 
be based on mutual liberty, with Love. Political institutions so 
based would be quite different from ours. 




The hardening and separation of the individual. In the Roman 
Empire, fully developed in Stoicism, which made my virtue the 
end of life. Mediaeval Empire and Church swept away the in- 
dividual. Luther began to revive him. In philosophy German 
idealism and English sensationalism did the same. [(Jo develop 
thisl] Two sides of subjectivism, will and sensation,- one leads 
to militarism, the other to decadent vice. But the Wille zur 
Macht is less finished subjectivism than the other, since power 
demands an Other over whom we have power. Hence it belongs 
to a less developed stage than sensationalism. Now-a-days, what 
people enjoy when they fall in love is not the beloved object, 
but the "experience", their own emotion. And when a young 
woman first becomes a mother, every one begs her to analyse 
the experience. Hence no important relation results. Hence uni- 
versal solitude. 

[3 think this is best.] 


There have been wars for important objects. This not one 
of them. 

Why men like the war : (only those who stay at home count 
those who go have no voice) because it relieves tedium; because 
it is a contest calling out primitive passions normally unexer- 
cised; because ordinary life is unsatisfying and tame; because 
triumph (which is expected) is delightful; because discomfort 



makes men look for some one to hate; because there is a lust of 
destruction, including self-destruction; because in war men real- 
ize the magnitude of their State, which is a source of pride. 

Modern weariness like that of late Roman Empire. 

No nation is fighting for any tangible object, but because it 
pleases them to fight. Gradually weariness is replacing love of 
violence, and bringing peace. 

To prevent wars, men must not be balked in their instincts, 
since this leads to cruelty; they must have opportunities of show- 
ing manhood and running risks. [Ihis too is good] 


[Cfhe key to this is the falsity of having for an aim the produc- 
tion of wealth. Our aim should he the establishment of 7ruth.] 

Many evils in it at present, but we can't go back to condition 
before. Machinery and large economic organizations are un- 

Evils: Life in town divorces men from instinctive satisfactions, 
such as smell of earth and sight of green fields. Exciting pleasures 
take place of satisfactions. This applies to the rich and the poor 
alike. Vastness of organizations and concentration in hands of 
capitalists, prevents employees from feeling any pride in their 
work. There is no result in which they can feel the satisfaction 
of the creator. A railway porter who has a little garden will work 
in his garden with a joy he never can feel in working for a rail- 
way company. Much industrial work is mechanical and monoto- 



nous. Even the work of directors of industry has no tangible 
object— it aims merely at wealth, which is an indefinite and 
always receding goal— it is not like artistic creation, perpetually 
reaching some achievement, and it is divorced from the material 
of the work. There is no use in merely more money. Miners earn 
good wages but are too uncivilized to enjoy them. No use in 
shorter hours, unless accompanied with means of rational enjoy- 
ment, and with education. No use abolishing poverty if ennui 

Palliations : education, shorter hours, everybody have a gar- 
den, etc. 

»Root of evil« [Re - construction] : that those employed have 
no voice in directing the business. Syndicalism suggests cure. 
Democracy should be economic as well as political. Democracy 
gives sense of self-direction in enterprises which require coopera- 
tion. Railway-men should elect station-masters, station-masters 
should elect directors. Then a man could take a pride in his 
railway, and think out its problems. The staff of a newspaper 
ought to decide its policy. No good having the State the sole 
employer. The State is too big and remote; it does not give a 
man the sense of directing his own work. 


Most men now believe that material goods make happiness; 
even socialists imagine that with better wages working men 
would be happy. Yet the rich are not happy. People need a cer- 


Russell's manuscript 
tain modicum of goods for happiness but this not the main need. 

Some men can be happy through religion, but they are few. 
[7his is subjective religion. But unless the religious idea be living 
8c extant, no one is happy.] 

Most men need two things : love leading to children, and work 
which gives an outlet to their creative impulse. 

Most women need freedom in love, and secure possession of 

In modern world children avoided for the sake of freedom, 
pride in work prevented by capitalism. If the lives of men and 
women were more satisfying, there would be less envy, hatred, 
cruelty, love of dominion, desire seeking titillations rather than 

No use reviving what is dead, or keeping alive what is mori- 

Must free our souls, live in vision, make better world vivid 
to our imaginations. Must achieve a new marriage of instinct 
and way of life, by less belief in material goods, by new political 
institutions giving unity of freedom. No need of hate or conflict: 
only the failure of inward joy brings them about. [Jhere will 
always be hate & conflict. It is a principle of growth: every bud 
must burst its cover, & the cover doesn't want to be burst. But 
let our hatred & conflict be really part of our vital growth, the 
outcome of our growing, not of our desire for sensation.] We 
first must get joy through religion, through spiritual freedom; 
then we can give it to others and bring about a happier life. 



Russell's manuscript 
There is in men something that may be called the principle of 
growth— in old-fashioned language, the Soul— which is injured 
in industrialism. Take professions: a man becomes a journaHst, 
and has to write for a paper whose politics he dislikes. This kills 
his pride in work, his sense of independence, and makes him 
cynical, mentally sterile or even devastating. A man becomes a 
doctor: if he is a general practitioner he has to fall in with hum- 
bug; if a specialist, he has to marry a heiress. In either case, his 
integrity is gone. A man becomes a poHtician: he not only has 
to swallow the Party programme, but he has to pretend to be a 
saint, to conciliate reHgious supporters; no man can enter Par- 
liament without hypocrisy. Parsons have to tell lies in the most 
solemn way in order to get ordained. In most continental coun- 
tries, learned men in youth have to profess agreement with their 
professors before they can get a start. In America they have to 
go for quick results rather than slow solid work. In no profession 
is there any respect for the native pride without which a man 
cannot remain whole; the world ruthlessly crushes it out, be- 
cause it implies independence, and men desire to enslave others 
more than they desire to be free themselves. Inward freedom is 
infinitely precious : we must create a society which preserves it. 






At the time of his correspondence with Bertrand Russell, 
Lawrence often dated his letters with the ''London, Wednes- 
day'' kind of notation. This is noticeable in the Huxley collec- 
tion,* which has many of the letters through this period (par- 
ticularly some of those to Lady Ottoline Morrell) placed only 
by guesswork. Aldous Huxley was a shrewd guesser and in the 
main was skillful at working out the position of various undated 
letters from internal evidence. Most of the mistakes he made 
were due to lack of corroborative material, such as the corre- 
spondence in the present volume, part of which shows that 
Huxley's arrangement of the letters in his edition was sometimes 
wrong— a matter he could not always be held responsible for, 
since he had no access to the present collection. And in turn, 
some other letters from this period, coming to light in the future, 

* 7be Letters of D. !H. Lawrence, edited by Aldous Huxley (New York : The Viking 
Press, 1932). Itemized here as Huxley. 



may show some of my own guesswork to be wrong. All that can 
be done now is to explain the basis of this guesswork. 

I have put a date in brackets at the head of each undated let- 
ter. Naturally, the correspondence that Lawrence himself dated 
presented no problem. The first undated letter in this collection 
is the one designated Number 4. It has only 'Monday' on its 
dateline, but it was written at Greatham; since the Lawrences 
left Greatham in August 1915, it was obviously written before 
then. It presents few tangible clues; one of them is the notation, 
'Thank you very much for the umbrella.' Since an umbrella is 
hardly the sort of thing one man would mail to another as a 
present, I assume that there must have been rain when Lawrence 
was leaving Russell's house in Cambridge at the end of his visit 
there, and that Russell must have given him an umbrella to use 
on the way to the station, telling him not to bother about return- 
ing it. 

Since Letter Number 3, dated March 2, 1915, reveals that 
Lawrence was planning to visit Cambridge early in March, the 
umbrella reference helps to esablish Letter 4 as having been 
written during that month. 

That Lawrence did not mention the Cambridge visit in Num- 
ber 4 is no proof that this is not the first communication between 
the two men after that visit. Although Lawrence was not above 
writing a 'Collins,' as the Huxley collection shows, he did not 
always observe this custom. And that the Cambridge trip was a 
disappointment to him may be seen from the letter I have num- 



bered 5, and from the one he wrote to Lady Ottoline Morrell, 
which appears on page 238 of the Huxley edition, as well as 
from Frieda Lawrence's report quoted in the Introduction to the 
present volume. 

This Letter Number 4 was written on a Monday— by my 
guess, a week after Lawrence's return from Cambridge, on 
March 15. Russell perhaps wrote an answer to it, something to 
the effect that the university town and the people he met there 
must have depressed Lawrence, for in his 'Friday' letter— which 
I assume is Friday of that same week (March 19), and conse- 
quently Letter Number 5— Lawrence begins 'It is true Cam- 
bridge made me very black and down. I cannot bear its smell 
of rottenness, marsh-stagnancy . . .' and so on. Lawrence was 
usually outspoken and not hypocritical in these matters; that is 
why I take it for granted that instead of the usual 'Collins' he 
wrote Letter Number 4, saying merely he was sad and had not 
done much writing of his 'philosophy.' But now that Russell 
has brought up the subject of Cambridge, Lawrence in his Friday 
note ungraciously tells his recent host what he thinks of that 
host's environment. Also— for a bit more evidence— Lawrence 
still cannot go on with his 'philosophy'; he is still depressed. 
This is another link between those two letters I believe to have 
been written in the same week. 

Letter Number 6 seems to have been written on Thursday, 
April 29. It is dated only 'Thrsday,' but mentions that Lawrence 
is going to London on (Saturday) May 8; later it says that 



Lawrence hopes to see Russell there 'next weekend but one/ 
The 'next weekend but one' being that of May 8, the letter 
should have been written on Thursday, April 29. 

The next letter requiring use of conjecture is that placed 
as Number 10. Since this one asks whether Russell is 'doing the 
lectures/ it must have been written before Lawrence's July 1 5 
discussion of 'your lecture on the State/ and even before Law- 
rence's July 9 statement to Lady Ottoline, 'He sent me a synop- 
sis of a set of lectures on Political Ideas.' (Huxley, p. 244.) And 
this Letter Number 1 seems to be later than Number 9, which 
Lawrence dated the 8th of June; in Number 9 and in the letters 
preceding, it is apparent that the idea of the lectures had not 
yet been born. Lawrence on June 8 was urging Russell to save 
himself for a bigger effort than that represented by his journal- 
istic attacks on Lord Northcliffe. The two men must go deeper 
than NorthcHffe, and beyond him: 'Let us wait a little while, 
till we can assemble the nucleus of a new belief, get a new centre 
of attack . . . [Y]ou are coming to us on the \9th. Then we will 
thresh out this business.' 

Letter Number 8, June 2, also mentions the expected visit on 
the 1 9th. An undated letter in Huxley, to Lady Ottoline (page 
242), placed amid the June and July correspondence, says 
'Bertie Russell will come next Thursday, to stay till Saturday,' 
and the following letter, also to Lady Ottoline, says 'Bertie 
Russell is here.' This is dated 'Sunday'— Russell must either have 
arrived a day or so later than expected, or have stayed over. 



June 20 was a Sunday that year; it is difficult not to believe that 
this letter to Lady Ottoline was not written on that day. After 
telling a bit about Russell, Lawrence goes on to say, 'We think 
to have a lecture hall in London in the autumn, and give lec- 
tures . . / This evidence indicates that the notion of the lectures 
was first hit upon during the weekend of June 19-20, 1915. 

This would certainly place Letter 10 after that date, and 
decidedly between Letter 9 (June 8) and Letter 11 (July 15). 
It is possible to investigate this Letter Number 1 further, and 
find good reasons for placing it in July. First, there is some 
internal evidence. Number 1 1 , July 1 5, has strong resemblances, 
in its capital-and-labor passages, to the undated letter to Lady 
Ottoline on page 239 in Huxley. In this letter Lawrence said, 
The war is resolving itself into a war between Labour and Cap- 
ital. Unless real leaders step forward, to lead in the light of a 
wide-embracing philosophy, there will be another French Revo- 
lution muddle.' Lawrence writes to Russell in the July 1 5 letter. 
This war is going to develop into the last great war between 
labour and capital. It will be a ghastly chaos of destruction, if it 
is left to Labour to be constructive. The fight must be given a 
higher aim than the triumph of Labour, or we shall have another 
French Revolution.' 

The similarities of thought and expression here suggest that 
the two letters were written either on the same day or within a 
few days of each other, thereby making Huxley's placement of 
the one to Lady Ottoline— before June 1— erroneous (Huxley 



of course lacked the evidence of the July 15 note to Russell). 
It might be objected that the similarities quoted above merely 
represented Lawrence's way of thinking during that entire sum- 
mer, but the seasoned student of Lawrence's correspondence will 
attest that Lawrence habitually used somewhat similar phrasing 
in letters written on the same day or on successive days. And 
during that summer of 1915, Lawrence was extremely protean 
in his thought-processes, as an examination of the letters in the 
present volume will indicate; he would hardly be using the same 
expressions over any considerable period. In the foregoing quo- 
tations, the lines to Russell show at least a slight development 
over those to Lady Ottoline: which does not mean that they 
could not have been written immediately afterward. 

On this evidence, I would date the quoted letter to Lady 
Ottoline in July, and as close to the 1 5th (prior to it) as possible. 
This dating is important in considering the present sequence of 
Lawrence correspondence, for that same letter to Lady Ottoline 
has further resemblances to another of the letters to Russell. In 
this same specimen from page 239 of the Huxley collection, we 
find Lawrence telling Lady Ottoline, 'I shall write all my phil- 
osophy again. Last time I came out of the Christian camp. This 
time I must come out of these early Greek philosophers.' In 
Letter Number 1 to Russell (which I am trying to establish as 
belonging to the early part of July 1915), Lawrence says, 'I 
have dropped writing my philosophy, but I go on working very 
hard in my soul. I shall lift up my voice in the autumn, & in 



connection with you, not apart. I have been wrong, much too 
Christian in my philosophy. These early Greeks have clarified 
my soul.' 

The first statement in the last passage does not contradict 
what Lawrence had told Lady Ottoline, that he would write his 
philosophy again : the explanation to Russell is merely another 
version of that. And the duplicate statements about the influ- 
ences of Christianity and the early Greeks suggest that once 
again there is a time-parity between two of these letters under 
consideration. Let it be said again that Lawrence was developing 
in a volatile fashion that summer and would hardly have held 
the same concepts of this kind over a long period of time, and 
that in any event a study of his letters will reveal that he was 
ordinarily not repetitious except in passages written on the same 
or on succeeding days. 

Consequently I believe that the letter to Lady Ottoline on 
page 239 in Huxley, and Letters 10 and 11 in the Russell set, 
were all written within a few days of each other, with Num- 
ber 11— dated July 15 and the only one with a date— as the 
latest of the three. Therefore I have dated Number 1 as having 
been written in July also. Lawrence put 'Wednesday' at the top 
of the letter; I have assumed that this is July 6, three days before 
Lawrence wrote Lady Ottoline Morrell that Russell had sent 
the synopsis of his lectures. 

Letter 1 1 is merely dated '15 July,' and Lawrence did not give 
the year, but that is easily determined by the Greatham address, 



where the Lawrences resided from January to August of 1915. 
Three more undated letters remain. The first of them is Num- 
ber 17. Its superscription is 'Dec. 1915' and 'Monday.' The 
brevity of this letter makes its dating particularly difficult, but 
it can be accomplished. Its heading of 'Byron Villas, Hamp- 
stead,' places it before December 21 (on Monday, December 20, 
Lawrence had told Katherine Mansfield that he and his wife 
were leaving Hampstead on the following day). I would place 
the letter early in the month. On December 12, Lawrence was 
telling Katherine Mansfield that he and his wife planned to 
spend Christmas with his sister, a statement at odds with the 
one to Russell that he and his wife hoped to leave for America 
'on the 24th of this month, if possible.' Lawrence also wrote 
Lady Ottoline Morrell on the 12th that he was leaving London 
on the 20th for his sister's place in Derbyshire. This statement 
also does not agree with the one in Letter 17 to Russell to the 
effect that Lawrence hoped to leave England by the 24th. He had 
told Murry on the 4th (Huxley, p. 292) that he hoped to leave 
England on the Crown de Leone on the 20th, and he had men- 
tioned that ship and that date a day or so earlier in the letters 
to Lady Ottoline Morrell and Lady Cynthia Asquith dated 
(perhaps erroneously, as we shall see) on December 3. By Mon- 
day, December 6, that particular trip must have been called off, 
and the chance of another must have come into view: hence the 
mention of the 24th to Russell as a possible escape day. But by 
the 12th Lawrence was talking of Christmas in Derbyshire. I 



therefore place the Russell 'Monday' letter, Number 17, at 
December 6, 1915. 

The next letter to be dated, Number 19, is headed: 'Ripley- 
Derby,' with 'Wednesday' as the only other given clue. The 
Derbyshire address should make this letter easy to date, since 
the Lawrences were up there only about a week— but, judging 
from the other letters of this period in the Huxley volume, dated 
by Lawrence himself, I can conclude only that Lawrence's per- 
sonal calender was awry. 

The wrongness begins in the first December letter in the 
Huxley volume, page 287, to Lady Cynthia, which Lawrence 
heads from Hampstead, 'Sunday, 3rd December, 1915.' The 
3rd of December was a Friday in 1915. 

In the comparative quiet of the Vale of Health, perhaps one 
day was like another : but Lawrence was not an absent-minded 
type— rather, he was alert and practical. How his calendar be- 
came so mixed, and stayed that way, is a mystery too deep for 
fathoming at this remove. 

Another December 3 letter, on the page before, does not say 
'Sunday,' and speaks of the visit that morning of Prince Bibesco. 
This is proof that the Lawrences had some contact with the 
outside world: it may be supposed that Prince Bibesco may have 
mentioned the day of the week, since there is a difference between 
a Sunday-morning call and a Friday-morning call. But Huxley 
may have put these two December 3 letters in the wrong order 
(indeed, several pages later he has a letter to Middleton Murr>^ 



and Katherine Mansfield, dated November 25, wrongly 
placed)— the one mentioning Prince Bibesco to Lady Ottoline 
Morrell may have been written in the afternoon, subsequent to 
Prince Bibesco's visit; the other one could have been written in 
the morning, before Prince Bibesco's arrival— since this letter 
was addressed to Lady Cynthia Asquith, it seems likely that 
Lawrence would have mentioned the prince. There is of course 
the possibility that the letters were written on two different days, 
one on (Friday) the 3rd, the other on Sunday (the 5th). 

I have gone into this at some length in order to demonstrate 
how difficult it is to attempt to date the December 1915 letters. 
For Lawrence was inaccurate once again that month, when he 
dated a letter from Ripley to Lady Cynthia Asquith, Thursday, 
24th December, 1915.' December 24 was a Friday. This is of 
especial concern here, since Letter Number 19 of the Russell 
series was possibly written during that week or the next. Another 
note of that week is puzzling as to exact date : the one to Lady 
Ottoline Morrell on page 301 in Huxley. This is headed 
'Wednesday' only; it was postmarked '23 Dec, 15.' The 23rd 
was a Thursday— this letter, from '2 Hurst Close, Garden Sub- 
urb, N.W.,' may have been written on Wednesday the 22nd 
and may not have reached the post office till the following day. 

It is hard, on the basis of the evidence within reach, to estab- 
lish the date of the Lawrences' arrival in Derbyshire. It was 
possibly on the 22nd of December, more likely— in view of the 
postmark of the 23rd on the note to Lady Ottoline— on the 



23rd or the 24th. The wrongly dated letter to Lady Cynthia 
(Thursday, 24th December, 1915') may have been written on 
Thursday the 23rd, and the confusion in dates may be due to 
Lawrence's traveling on that day. In this case, however, I am 
more inclined to think that the letter to Lady Cynthia was writ- 
ten on Friday the 24th— a man coming to a house where there 
were small children, and a family gathering, should have known 
the date of the day before Christmas. 

Lawrence had written Katherine Mansfield on the 20th that 
he would stay at his sister's till the 29th; and later we find him, 
in a correctly dated letter from Cornwall to Lady Cynthia 
CTTiursday, 30th December'— Huxley, p. 305), saying 'We 
came here tonight.' And in the preceding letter to Lady Ottoline 
Morrell (also correctly dated: 'Monday, 27 Dec, 1915'), 
Lawrence writes that he will go to Cornwall on Thursday. And 
in Letter Number 19 to Russell, he says 'We go to Cornwall 
on Thursday— 30th.' He does not say 'tomorrow,' as he would 
if the 'Wednesday' referred to December 29. The only other 
Wednesday on which Lawrence could have been at Ripley was 
the 22nd; he could have written to Russell immediately after 
arriving. The colliers he mentions could have been seen by him 
on the way from the station. But the possibility that Lawrence 
had the day of the week wrong is so great that I am putting the 
date December 22-23, 1915 between brackets at the top of this 

The last item to be dealt with is Number 22. Lawrence gave 



this letter no heading except 'Saturday/ Its salutation is 'My 
dear Russell/ like the Cornwall letters of February 11 and 
March 9. I believe it should be placed between these two. 

Its references to Heseltine's fear of conscription and to his 
publishing scheme make it coeval with the February letters in 
the Huxley volume. And in Letter 21 to Russell, February 11, 
1916, Lawrence had first spoken of the publishing scheme (a 
February 1 1 letter to Murry also mentions Heseltine's publish- 
ing ambitions to Murry for the first time; Huxley, p. 324) 
as it was working out, though he did not speak of Heseltine. But 
in Letter 22 he says, 'Heseltine is starting the publishing scheme' 
—which makes it naturally sequent to Letter 21. 

But on which Saturday in February was this written? In the 
February 1 1 letter there is no mention of the Lawrences' mov- 
ing; other references in the Huxley collection indicate that the 
Lawrences expected to use the Beresford place for another 
month. But apparently Beresford had written asking to have it 
back earlier, and the Lawrences seem to have left on Febru- 
ary 29. In Letter 22 to Russell, Lawrence says, 'We have got to 
clear out of this place in a week's time. We are looking for 
another house.' I do not think this dates Letter 22 on Saturday, 
February 26, but rather on Saturday, February 19. 

For on the 24th Lawrence wrote Beresford that they would 
leave on the following Tuesday; since this was the 29th, it was 
only five days away, and would have been only three days from 
the 26th. A letter (in Huxley) to Middleton Murry and Kath- 



erine Mansfield on February 17 shows that Lawrences appar- 
ently not expecting the Beresfords back until March 9— but 
between the 17th and the 19th, Beresford must have written 
Lawrence that he would like to have the cottage back by the 
first of March. So Lawrence tells Russell that he and Mrs. 
Lawrence have to move out in a week. Also, if Letter 22 had 
been written on Saturday the 26th, it would have come after 
the one to Beresford on the 24th, and in that letter Lawrence 
states that he has found a house near Zennor, St. Ives. But in 
Letter 22 he is looking for a house. 

Further corroboration is given by Lawrence's letter to Lady 
Ottoline on February 1 5, 1916 (Huxley, p. 326 ff.), saying that 
a letter had just come in from 'Bertie,' who was miserable, lived 
only for trivialities, etc. 'I feel sorry for him, but my heart 
doesn't soften to him just yet. . . .' Surely this letter from Rus- 
sell is the one Lawrence is answering in the first paragraph of 
Number 22; and the ship metaphor seems a continuation of the 
one he had used, more grimly, in the February 7 letter to Lady 
Ottoline. (Huxley, p. 321.) Therefore the 'Saturday' in the 
Lawrence letter which I have numbered 22 must be Saturday, 
February 19, 1916. 

Lawrence would have mocked at all this doctor-of-philoso- 
phizing about the dates of his letters, but for the sake of those 
who want to read this correspondence in its correct sequence, the 
elaborate explanations are necessary. 



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